Forever More
by Red Pollard
Summary: King Arthur and his knights are off on a journey to regain their freedom from the Romans but from a freak accident of somehow, Kera is transported back in time to them after following a strange person that killed her parents. LancelotKera! Please R&R.
1. Returning to the Castle

Title: Forever More  
Author: Red Pollard  
Authors Note: SPOILERS! Well at least in reference to the King Arthur  
Movie I think. This is something that I wrote up with my strange  
obsession with King Arthur, knights, medieval-ness, Guinevere and so  
on. It's my little version after reading the book King Arthur based  
off the movie coming July something. Oh, so for all of you that are  
either going to see the movie or have read the book, I'm going to try  
and incorporate my own ideas in with theirs. Except in mine... well I  
haven't decided whether Lancelot and all those other people should die  
like they do. And since I have an undying love for Lancelot, I found  
someway to incorporate my own little made up character into this  
story. No doubt there is a Lancelot/my character thing coming up no  
matter how much he loves Guinevere. I love Guinevere too but she has  
Arthur and Lancelot is mine! God I want to live in that time...  
Disclaimer: I sadly own none of these characters except for maybe my  
lovely little Kera and some of the horses and what not. My thanks to  
Frank Thompson.  
Chapter 1: ‡Returning to the Castle‡  
Ignoring the glistening sweat streaming into his dark  
eyes, the lone knight leaned forward slightly and urged his dark bay  
steed into a faster canter across the field. The endless expanses of  
green rolled on for as far as the eye could see. In the far distance,  
the harsh jagged edges of the mountains protruded from the horizon,  
slowly turning from their hard stone gray to white. Just above, the  
sky was foretelling rain... or snow... or both.  
The sun was beginning to set, its rays of light slowly  
stretching out over the land one last time as it slowly sank down  
behind the range of mountains to wait for a new day. Quickly brushing  
a roughened hand to his brows, the knight wiped away his sweat and  
hoped that he would return back to the castle before Mother Nature  
took out her wrath upon him. Before him lay the path that lead  
straight to the dark depths of the forest. Not even the villagers that  
lived near its outskirts dared venture down that path without fear for  
their own life.  
For it was known that many of the fiercest warriors lay  
hidden within the trees' protection. They fought ferociously, not  
fearing for their own lives, but with only the sole purpose to fight.  
They knew the forests like the back of their hand, better than any  
man, knight, or simpleton could. But even more frightening about them  
was their skin was painted various colors. Sometimes earthen colors,  
and at other times a blue. Their bodies would be riddled with tattoos.  
These were the feared Picts or Woads as many other preferred to call  
them, named after the plant they used to make the dye of their  
intricate tattoos.  
Arthur would be waiting for him, the knight thought. Soon,  
after many long and hard years of resentful dedication towards  
fighting for the Romans, he and his other friends would soon be freed  
from their labor and be released to their own lives once more. The  
reason for their 'enslavement' began long ago when the strong and  
nomadic Samatians could not withstand the crushing power of the  
Romans. Losing to them in battle, they were forced between treasuring  
their lives more, or their freedom. They were then forced to dedicate  
themselves to fighting for Rome for a decade and a half, giving up  
their sons, any above the age of 10 to the same type of grueling work.  
The knight smiled at the thought. He would soon be free.  
For many years now, he had known Arthur as not only a  
childhood friend but a truly devoted and talented knight. Arthur  
himself had joined the Roman army at the young age of 10 not long  
after his mother, Ingraine, was killed. Arthur had then made his own  
small army, choosing out one hundred knights, all with their own  
special reason of being worthy. The round table was the main thing  
that no one forgot. With no beginning or end, Arthur had always been  
one for equality yet everyone knew that he was their rightful leader.  
Another thing was that Arthur was most likely the only knight among  
them that was Christian. He for one refused to worship all the various  
pagan gods there were to worship from. He believed in the one true  
God.  
The knight laughed once more to himself. He wasn't as  
'orthodox' as Arthur was and preferred to worship in his own gods. One  
for every occasion. You could never go wrong.  
Large white billowing clouds had begun to form overhead  
and after not long, the knight felt the first drops of rain splatter  
onto his cheeks. Slowing his horse to a slow lope, he carefully took  
of his helmet and placed it in his saddle bag. Without it on he would  
be able to see where he was going better. He still had a long way to  
go and after a short moment, he nudged his steed into a faster pace.  
He had no other choice but to cross through the forest; it was the  
shortest way to getting back to Hadrian's Wall.  
The towering trees loomed up ahead of him and even as he  
entered that path, his horse slowed down to a walk. It took all of his  
own charismatic demeanor to get the bay to move on forward. He  
couldn't blame the horse. He didn't want to be there either. The path  
itself was no wider than two horse lengths across. Keeping one steady  
hand on the reins, the knight drew out one of the two of his swords.  
Resting it across his lap he got a firm grip as he and horse traveled  
slowly deeper through the forest. Every so now and then he would  
glance behind him and above just for reassurance.  
The air around him cooled progressively as soon, the tall  
forested area blocked out what little sunlight could penetrate through  
the thick canopy layers. The trees around him seemed to sway gently as  
one. Yet the odd thing was there wasn't a breeze to be felt. Gritting  
his teeth, he suddenly heard a snap of branches behind him. His horse  
immediately stiffened and jerked to a stop, tossing his head and  
letting out a fearful snort. Wrapping the leather reins loosely around  
the saddle horn he lifted his sword slowly with precaution, all the  
while keeping a sharp eye on the trees around him.  
Suddenly, with a loud scream and yell, four creatures  
emerged from the brush, eyes glinting malevolently. Their skin was  
covered in a deep brown dye and in their hands they held various  
weapons. Letting out a loud cry, they rushed by foot towards the  
knight, swords, knives, and axes a waving. Their lips were pulled back  
over their teeth in a threatening and angry snarl. Leaves and small  
pieces of twigs and dirt matted their hair giving them an overall  
savage look.  
"Woads," the knight hissed.  
With one swift arm movement, he drew his second sword  
diagonally from its sheath. Kicking his horse into a gallop, they  
charged headlong towards the small band of Woads. Swinging his swords  
above his head, he brought them down hard across his body. As metal  
clashed upon metal two decapitated bodies fell limply to the earth.  
Rearing up, the large bay screamed out towards the sky and came down  
hard on one of the carcasses. The two remaining Woads backed up  
slightly, their weapons still held up in front of them, and let out  
several more unearthly calls. The knight cursed and wheeled his horse  
around just to see four more Woads jump out and block his hope of  
retreating.  
The knight brought both swords to his right side and with  
extreme strength, pierced yet another Woad throat. Yanking his swords  
back out he cantered towards the rest of them, his brows furrowed in  
concentration. Blood spattered upon his armor yet regardless to this  
he fought on. Two Woads rushed towards him, their axes raised. One  
drew back his arm and with a muffled groan aimed it directly at the  
knight's head. Dodging quickly, the knight leaned down low barely  
avoiding the ax. It whistled dangerously near his ear and embedded  
itself in the Woad behind him's chest. Holding both his sword out to  
either of his side he slashed viciously at both the attacking Woads,  
cutting both their heads clean off their shoulders.  
The few Woads that remained hissed out towards him. An  
arrow flew from the trees and slammed into the knight's shoulder  
guard. It went straight through the metal and planted itself shallowly  
in the area between his collar bone and his shoulder. Taking in a  
quick breath he gritted his teeth and with a ferocious yank, pulled  
the entire arrow out. Dark red blood covered its stone head. With  
messy aim, he chucked it back into the trees and was satisfied to hear  
a body fall from one of the lower branches and hit the ground, dead.  
One Woad on horseback yelled something incomprehensible  
out. He seemed to be the tallest of the Woads at that moment and  
obviously their group leader. With a wave of his hand he motioned for  
the rest to go after the knight. Wheeling his horse around, the knight  
resheathed his swords and pushed his bay into a run. They sped down  
the path, narrowly missing speeding arrows and pieces of metal thrown  
towards him or his horse. One small piece of debris deflected off the  
horse's lower right leg and for a moment, he stumbled. A small stream  
of blood welled up at the new cut. But as soon as it seemed as if they  
weren't going to make it, everything suddenly stopped. All motion and  
noise just ceased. The trees stopped swaying and were deadly still.  
Throwing a glance behind him, the knight saw that the  
trees had cleared away and he was now in the wide open of the  
countryside once more. The two remaining Woads stared at him from the  
edge of the woods. It seemed as if they dare not go out into the  
sunlight or the rain at least. The shadows of the forest casted a  
gloomy darkness over their faces. Yet the knight could tell they were  
hissing and jeering back at him. Pressing a rough hand against his  
wounded shoulder, he slowed his horse to a walk. One daring Woad  
stepped out from the trees shelter. Squinting his dark eyes, the  
knight saw that he was not dressed like all the others. He did not  
have a savage look to him but rather, an all knowing appearance. His  
messy hair reached a below his shoulders and was a stunning snow white  
contrasting to his tanned face. A beard of the same color covered much  
of his face. He seemed to be robed in rags but he held himself in such  
a way that made you think twice about crossing him. In left withered  
hand, he held a tall, thin, and crooked staff which he held himself up  
with. If the knight hadn't been mistaken, he swore that the man nodded  
at him.  
"We shall meet again..." the man whispered to himself. "If  
not very soon."  
Turning around, he drew his robes and cloak closer around  
his emaciated body. Nodding towards the two other Woads, they took off  
back down the path, soon to disappear into the darkness. His bright  
green eyes lingered on the knight for a second longer before he too  
vanished, as if by magic, into the trees.  
Author's Second Little note thingy: So what do you think? It's not  
much now but I'm working on it. Please R&R!!!! I need all the  
constructive criticism I can get. And if I make some serious  
historical mistake feel free to correct me. I'm welcome for  
suggestions. I'm not much of a writer and I've already got writer's  
block. THANKS! 


	2. Death in the Family

Title: Forever More  
Author: MOI! Red Pollard  
Author's Note: Well I've finally picked up my lazy butt and written  
some more. This is where you meet my lovely KERA! Oh and I think right  
about now I'm supposed to tell you that there are some spoilers  
(sorry!) in reference to the King Arthur movie. BUT DEAL!  
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the King Arthur characters sadly.  
Though I'd love for Lancelot to be mine! J OH but I guess I do kinda  
own my lovely little Kera and some of the perdy little horsies. Once  
again, my undying thanks to Frank Thompson.  
Chapter 2: ‡Death in the Family‡  
I Vague images flashed before her eyes. Sometimes she  
would catch a glimpse of something bright, glinting off metal, and at  
other times the picture was just too blurry to comprehend clearly. She  
found herself surrounded by a thick cloud of smoke. Lifting a hand,  
she tried waving it in front of her face and found that she could  
barely see it. Coughing, she made a futile attempt to push the smoke  
aside. It filled her lungs and choked back her tears. Covering her  
mouth with one hand, she stumbled blindly through the abyss, not  
entirely sure where she was or why.  
Tears were welling up in her eyes. She tried to open her  
mouth to scream but nothing came out. Only the silent sound of her  
failure rang loud and clear. Falling to her knees, she cradled her  
head in her hands. Her eyes were squeezed shut. No matter how hard she  
tried, she couldn't yell for help. Rocking back and forth on her  
heels, she let the tears fall freely. Each teardrop splashing against  
her pale skin and rolling off onto the ice. Ice?  
Trying to get to her feet, she slipped and slid along the  
ice which she stood on. Slipping, she skidded a few feet before  
stopping. Her cheek hit the ice roughly and large cut formed at her  
chin. Looking up she saw a vast army of vicious warriors bearing down  
on a much smaller group. She was on a frozen lake. Everyone was  
fighting to maintain their balance all the while slashing and killing  
their opponents at the same time. One large and brawny knight from the  
smaller group strode up confidently to the boundary between them and  
the army. Raising his mace, he brought it down so relentlessly that  
the aftershock that rippled up his arm stunned him momentarily. A thin  
crack began to snake its way upon impact. The warriors yelled in  
protest and shortly, arrows were flying through the air aimed for that  
one knight.  
Not even after he had been hit with two arrows did he  
waver until the ice finally gave way. His eyes rolled up into his  
skull as the final arrow buried itself deep into his chest throwing  
him off his feet rearwards. His blood smeared the blue ice like some  
kind of grotesque painting.  
Closing her eyes to the fighting, the girl tried to run  
but all was to no avail.  
Opening her eyes, she saw that she was sitting in the  
middle of a field. Yet it was not just any ordinary countryside field.  
The thick stench of frying bodies filled her nose and she winced. War  
raged around her, oblivious to the huddled form on the ground. Near  
her, a warrior brought his arms down as hard as possible, his long  
sword slashing right through the top of another warrior's skull. Her  
eyes wide with fear, she tripped to her feet and tried running. The  
girl had several spots of blood on her. Not her blood of course.  
Legs flailing wildly, she tried wiping the blood from her eyes but did  
not notice the rock near her foot. Stumbling over it, she fell face  
first onto the ground. Yet it wasn't the ground this time either. She  
pushed her arms out to break her fall however she landed on something  
soft. Lifting the hair from her eyes, she fell backwards away from the  
dead body she had landed on. Half of the man's head had been cracked  
wide open. His yellowed bloodshot eyes stared up wildly at her and his  
legs were skewed at impossible angles. His mouth hung open to reveal  
large jagged teeth and a blackened tongue. Still not finding her  
voice, the girl stood up hastily and looked around frightened.  
Spinning around, she spotted near the top of a hill two  
separate figures. They themselves were not engaged in the fight that  
was below them but seemed to be caught up in their own personal war.  
One of the men was tall and had musky blondish hair. Thick and once  
luxurious furs were draped across his shoulders. Hanging at his waist  
was an ax that no doubt probably weighed as much as the girl herself.  
Suppressing another scream that never did come out, she tried to block  
out this terrible nightmare. The other man at the top of the hill was  
not as tall but no less valiant and brave. Swinging his sword up, he  
barely blocked what could have been a deadly blow from his attacker's  
ax. Metal resounded upon metal. After several minutes, his shoulders  
seemed to sag and his once strong blocks and thrusts were now more  
sluggish. Tumbling over backwards, he landed hard on his back. The  
taller man sneered, his eyes glinting red and victorious as he raised  
his ax over his head. The fallen man's eyes did not portray the least  
bit apprehension and within moments it was all over.  
The ax came down at a tremendous speed. The man had no  
chance to escape.  
Not far from there, the girl spotted a beautiful young  
woman. Tears were streaming down her face as she knelt down and pulled  
the limp form of a knight towards her arms. A single arrow protruding  
from his chest but only the barbs could be seen. His face was as royal  
and handsome as they came. His once dark eyes were now closed. His  
well defined facial features would go lost. Good strong jaw line. High  
and distinct cheek bones. Soft lips. Well muscled arms... chest... The  
girl shook her head. Trying not to think about him. It wasn't like her  
to become so entranced like this. She returned her attention to the  
woman next to the knight. Running a hand through his short and curly  
black hair, the woman laid her cheek next to his, crying freely.  
The girl felt something touch her feet. Hearing a hollow  
THUD, she looked down to see the fallen knight's head roll down the  
hill and stop at her feet. Its lifeless white eyes peered up at her,  
shattering any self confidence she had left. A warrior off to her side  
was forced backwards as a battle club ripped through his torso. Blood  
spurted everywhere from his open chest and soon the girl was drenched  
in it. Lifting her arms slowly, the crimson dripped slowly off her to  
tarnish the ground in it. Her clothes and hair were stained red as  
well. Her eyes flashed dangerously from the headless body, to the head  
itself at her feet, to the handsome knight. Pressing her soaked hands  
to the side of her face, she opened her mouth slightly and  
screamed./I  
  
Her eyes flashed open as she sat up in bed. Her body was  
rigid and she pulled the blankets closer to her slowly. Where there  
had been blood, was now sweat. Her chest rose up and down unevenly as  
she took short breaths. Rolling over on her bed, she held her pillow  
close to her as if it would give her the moral support she needed. It  
was only a nightmare. Something that shouldn't have been taken too  
seriously. Tears were sliding down her cheek and she brushed them away  
hurriedly with amazement. She was one that rarely got so emotional but  
this dream... had been so real.  
Looking at her clock, the red numbers 3:20 [am] blinked  
back at her. Groaning, she quickly slid back under the sheets as she  
heard someone enter her room. A firm grasp shook her back to reality.  
"Kera," a voice whispered.  
Turning her bleary eyes up, she tried to distinguish the  
shadowy figure next to her bed.  
"Me and your mother are going to the hospital," the voice  
said once more.  
It was her father. Confused and still dazed, Kera tried to  
sit up but she had never been a morning person.  
"Whuh.... Why?" she asked.  
There was a short silence.  
"Grandma Susan is gone. You stay with your sister. We'll  
be back in a couple hours."  
Nodding subconsciously, Kera fell back onto her soft and  
welcoming pillows. Her eyes drooped as her body cried out for sleep. A  
few moments after her father had left the room, more tears flooded to  
her eyes. She sobbed into her pillow, trying to dull the sound as much  
as possible. First the dream and then her grandmother gone? It was all  
too much. Still sniffing, she rolled out of bed and pulled on some  
decent clothes. Clamoring down the stairs she threw the door open just  
to see her parents driving away in their car. The night was still  
young. Darkness was everywhere, dimming even the brightest street  
light's glare.  
Throwing on a light jacket, Kera swung her leg over her  
motorcycle. Actually it had been her older brother's but now that he  
was away in college, she claimed it as her own. Outside, the night was  
still cool and the dew hadn't even formed on the lawn. All was quiet  
and still save for the rapidly disappearing sound of a motorcycle,  
slowly vanishing as it made a right turn onto the soundless main  
street.  
Hi Again. I really can't make long chapters. I'm aiming for a longer  
one later though. King Arthur itself is coming out soon! Until then... 


	3. Last Farewells

Title: Forever More  
Author: Me and me and me.........  
Authors Note: I've seen so many other people put up 'Authors Note' but  
shouldn't there be an apostrophe between the r and the s? Oh well.  
Just a random little thing. I just got a new computer so I've had to  
save everything from various floppy disks which I have lost and then  
found onto the new comp. Sorry for the delay. I always have a tendency  
of not finishing my stories but I swear I shall try as hard as I  
possibly can to keep this one alive.  
Disclaimer: God I hate disclaimers. Oh well. I don't own King Arthur  
or any of those characters that I desperately wish I did. My little  
Kera belongs to me though! J. Once again... all hail Frank Thompson.  
Chapter 3: ‡Last Farewells‡  
The cold wind whipped past Kera as she applied even more  
pressure to the gas. The chilly air stung her eyes. Squinting them  
until they were mere slits, she tried to focus where she was. Yet, it  
was quite hard to concentrate on anything after learning that the one  
woman that had been there her entire life, longer than her mother ever  
had been, was gone. Shaking her head, she wiped her mind clean. Now  
the only thing she needed to direct her attention was on where she was  
going.  
Along the sidewalks, the streetlights cast a dim circle of  
light around them, barely illuminating the trees behind them. Up ahead  
of Kera, a stoplight turned yellow then red. Regardless of it, or if  
there were any cameras around, she hunched lower over the handlebars  
of the 1948 Indian motorcycle. The powerful engine growled loudly  
between her knees as she meandered in and out of the few cars around  
her. Ducking, though there was no need to, she passed the red light,  
leaving everything behind her. It felt good to be back outside, in  
touch with her senses. Looking up she saw that the street sign with  
the street name on it read bGeorgia Avenue/b on it. Great. She had  
no idea where she was.  
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a small shadow  
dart out into the streets in front of her motorcycle. Jerking the  
brake handle back with everything she could, she inclined towards the  
left. The bike made an uneven half circle and nearly collided with a  
stop sign. With a piercing screech, it halted. Looking over her  
shoulder, Kera saw a squirrel sitting not ten feet away from her.  
Resting on its haunches, its unusual bright green eyes stared back at  
her. Its nose twitched slightly and she could have sworn it smiled at  
her. Kera froze as her hands quivered on the motorcycle's handlebars.  
Slowly getting off the bike, she stood up. For some strange reason,  
this squirrel didn't seem at all like what it should be. It was too  
bold and fearless, even for a squirrel, for it was so near a human  
being. Bending down, she reached out a tentative hand towards the  
squirrel's head.  
"You okay? Did I um... hit you?" she asked more to herself  
than the squirrel.  
Suddenly, the squirrel opened its small mouth and let out  
a bark that wasn't fit for its size. Snapping her hand back, Kera rose  
from her knees quickly and backed away as she witnessed, in awe or  
horror or both, at the metamorphism happening before her eyes. The  
squirrel's eyes grew steadily larger yet they never lost its intense  
stare. Its small ears increased in size as its head did the same. Its  
nose pushed out farther away from the head to form a muzzle. The body  
changed in shape as the legs became longer and more muscular and  
taller. Underneath its black fur coat, a layer of muscle rippled. The  
once bushy squirrel tail was replaced by a longer and furrier tail.  
Large and sharp teeth bared inside its jowls.  
Edging back towards her bike, Kera receded away from the  
ebony wolf facing her. Cocking its head to one side, the wolf gave out  
another bark as if to say "Follow me" just before turning around and  
bounding off at an impossible rapidity down the road.  
Kera stood there motionless for a moment, stunned. Then  
shaking her head and cursing underneath her breath, Kera jumped back  
on the motorcycle and revved the engine back to power. spiraling the  
bike back around so that she was traveling in the correct direction,  
she hurried in pursuit of the mysterious wolf. The bike gave one noisy  
shriek of protest before jumping forward and chasing after the  
squirrel or wolf or whatever creature that was. All that was left was  
one long, black streak of smoking rubber along the otherwise deserted  
street.  
  
Pushing the motorcycle even faster, Kera asked for speeds  
that she would have never done before. Yet if she ever wanted to keep  
up with the wolf, it was the only thing she could do. She saw the  
shadowy figure make a sharp left and she did the same, leaning  
dangerously to the left that her knee almost scraped the asphalt.  
Every so often she would lose sight of the wolf only to spot him about  
a hundred yards ahead of her waiting at the next street intersection.  
A pickup truck of teenagers not much older than her (that were  
strangely out at this time of day... night) went hysterical with the  
horn as Kera flew by.  
Throwing wary glances around her, she felt unexpectedly  
alone. There was no sound and everything around her seemed so big and  
forbidding. She had no one now. Her parents, Joan and Brian, were  
never much of a support so with them fussing over the funeral, it  
wouldn't be a surprise to the lonesomeness she would feel or already  
did. The 8 lane road suddenly didn't feel so big. The tall and willowy  
trees that swayed ever so gently on either side of the street seemed  
to encroach in on her own personal space. Kera felt like a toy now,  
nothing more than a ripple in time.  
Her speedometer read 75 miles per hour and rising. Though  
what seemed to be fast, she knew that she didn't stand a chance  
against keeping up with the wolf if she didn't hurry. The wolf now  
just a quarter in the horizon turned its head and let out a long howl.  
The streetlights brightened magically as she passed them then reduced  
to faint glows as they disappeared behind her. They seemed to form a  
one way road that the wolf was forming and leading. The blackness  
chased at her from behind, urging her forward. Wrenching the throttle  
as far as it would go, Kera hunched even lower over her bike.  
After several moments, Kera saw that the wolf was nowhere  
to be seen. Now frantic, she slowed the bike considerably and made a  
large circle in the road searching anxiously for her guide. Another  
bark rang out clear. Snapping her head around, she spotted the wolf at  
the edge of the trees. It lifted up one great paw and pointed it into  
the woods then galloped off into them.  
"Oh crap," Kera said.  
Making a small loop, she said a quick prayer in hope that  
she would see morning before scanning around to see if there was any  
other way to go around the woods. Lucky for her, there weren't. The  
wolf let out a bark ahead of her, telling her to hurry up. Kera made  
her decision.  
In a scream of rubber and sparks, she leaned fiercely to  
her right and swerved off the road. A small ditch separated the road  
from the trees and the motorcycle's tires hit the bottom in a cloud of  
gravel and dirt. Struggling to keep her balance, she gritted her  
teeth. In order to get up the steep gully side, Kera powered the bike  
forward as it fish-tailed erratically up the rise. Clawing at the  
loose earth, the wheels spun wildly in effort. The once powerful  
engine now whimpered pitifully as Kera forced it to its limit. She  
urged it on, hoping it wouldn't stall.  
Finally, the bike broke over the ridge of the hill and  
into the trees. If it hadn't been all those times she had ridden on  
the back of this very bike with her brother on the busy and more  
hazardous freeway, she would have crashed into the trees no doubt.  
Weaving in and out of them, she would occasionally go over rough  
ground or a root jutting out from the ground and nearly fall off. But  
only her shear determination to catch the wolf kept her from  
completely failing. The headlights shined brightly, sending a vivid  
beam of light ahead, catching the wolf's figure in its illumination.  
Her motorcycle suddenly felt faster as the trees zipped  
past on the left and right. Everything seemed to blur away as Kera's  
eyes narrowed in on the wolf. She knew she should feel some sort of  
panic or fear, but she didn't. She knew exactly where the wolf was  
going. Narrowly missing an accident, she swerved left, then right, and  
opened up the throttle. Now the speedometer read 80 mph.  
iJust a little farther/i, she thought.  
The bike lurched across the ground and all of a sudden, they were in  
the clear. The forest receded and opened up to the empty main streets  
once more. Making a hurried right, she turned off the street into a  
parking lot. Approaching the main building at near 90 miles per hour,  
Kera killed the engine at the last moment. Swinging her right leg over  
the bike, she jumped off bike. Wincing, she heard the bike slid into  
the SUV next to it.  
SUVs were never really all that good cars to begin with, she thought  
to herself.  
The sound of metal scraping against metal still rang through her head  
as she jogged up the sidewalk. Ahead, she saw the black wolf slip past  
the automatic doors and into the hospital.  
Entering the building, white dots swam before her eyes as she was  
confronted with the harsh and not to mention bright lighting of the  
hospital. Walking up to the receptionist desk she placed a hand on the  
desk. Leaning over, she tried to catch her breath.  
"Is there anything I can do to help you?" a nasal voice asked.  
Lifting her head tiredly, Kera saw a blonde haired woman peer over the  
wall of her desk. On her name tag it read: /b. She was  
chewing gum the way a llama chewed on grass; her mouth hanging open to  
reveal pearly whites. Held loosely between her fingers was a nail  
filer.  
"Uh yeah... could you tell me which floor—"Kera started when she saw a  
large bushy tail disappearing down the hall. "Never mind."  
Rounding the corner, she saw the elevator doors closing. Screaming  
through clenched teeth she ran up and pushed the up button.  
"Open up!!!!!!!" she yelled hammering her fists against the door.  
Looking up she saw that the elevator had stopped on floor 4. A soft  
/i brought her back to her senses as she entered the other  
unoccupied elevator.  
Stepping out on floor number 4, her shoulders immediately stiffened  
and her hands curled up into fists. She didn't need the wolf to help  
her find her grandmother. In the makeshift room directly ahead of her  
laid a small, frail figure in the hospital bed. Walking towards the  
bed, her steps became less and less sure. Tears flooded to her eyes  
and she was choking back sobs even before she fell to her knees by her  
grandma.  
The petite woman lying on the bed had a small face. Everything about  
her seemed small. Her cheekbones were well defined and led to a round  
yet bony nose. Wrinkles creased across her forehead and surrounded her  
little to no eyebrows. The only thing that stood out from her soft  
features was her lips. Though little and straight, they always seemed  
pursed in a hidden laugh like she knew something you didn't. Even now,  
she had a sassy look to her. Frizzy white hair coiled around her  
yielding face, like the bouncy ringlets little girls had. Both her  
hands rested above the strangely messy sheets and Kera took them in  
hers. They were cold.  
"Grandmama..." she whispered through snuffles, "I miss you already..."  
Her voice cracked as she rested her head on the edge of the bed. Her  
tears fell from her eyes and splashed onto the cold floor beneath her.  
Soon, there was a small enough puddle to be noticed. Getting up, she  
asked around until she found the nearest bathroom which happened only  
to be not three rooms away. Closing the door not all the way behind  
her she went up to the sink. Looking hard into mirror above it, she  
saw that her eyes were now incredibly puffy. Her nose was red and  
overall she felt like throwing up. So... naturally... she didn't deny her  
body what she felt like doing.  
Getting down on her knees, she held the rim of the toilet and retched  
up last night's dinner. Her back heaved as the contents spilled from  
her mouth. Several times she gagged and tried to stop but the taste  
was to disgusting and she gave in. Coughing up the last remains, she  
got up. Grabbing a paper towel, she found herself standing once again  
in front of the mirror. Wiping her mouth, she threw away the towel.  
Pushing her dark hair away from her face she caught it in a ponytail.  
Baring her neck, she saw the gold chain which she had always worn  
beneath her shirt.  
It had been given to her as a birthday present for her 8th birthday  
from her grandma. The necklace was from pure rose gold and it had a  
small dangling pendant of some intricate, Celtic horse rearing up made  
of onyx. Kera had rarely worn it before until the day she found it  
missing from her dresser top when she was ten. She searched almost the  
entire day for it, asking her mother to drive her back and forth from  
friend's houses to school, home, and back to friend's houses. When she  
finally found it behind the toilet she had sworn to wear it every  
single day from then, just so it wouldn't get lost again.  
Fingering the pendant, it was when she caught a glimpse of something  
in the mirror. Leaning over the sink, she watched as someone passed in  
front of the not completely closed bathroom door and stop right  
outside it.  
Edging along the wall, she pressed her ear against the door lightly.  
There were now two people standing outside her door.  
"I searched everywhere on that woman. She doesn't have it!" a first  
voice said. Man no doubt.  
"Are you sure you checked everywhere? We can't leave without it you  
know. Father-- Cerdic won't be happy at all about it." A second softer  
voice answered.  
"Positive! You don't know how long it took for me to even get near  
that crazy bitch though. The nurses wouldn't let me see her in  
private. Just had to say I was her friggen son and that got then  
running. She was so delusional she couldn't even remember who I was.  
Strokes can do that to ya. Not that I'd know but you know..."  
"Yea. Yea. Get on with it." The second voice said with a hint of  
irritation.  
"I'm getting there. I tried to see if she was wearing it around her  
neck, but when I tried, she kept clawing at my face. See this?"  
A short silence.  
"Got that from her! Got me right on the arm too. Well... you see what  
happened next wasn't meant. She had her purse with her and I thought  
'Hey! Maybe it's in there. Necklace. Pure. See my point? So when I  
tried to look inside it, the woman grabbed my shirt and started  
screaming at me. Nonsense of course. Something on the line of ' You'll  
never get her for she has the brains and the determination that you'll  
never have.' Kind old woman she is. No idea what she was talking  
about. So while protecting myself I unhooked some wires. Long beep...  
and she's dead."  
There was a sharp slapping noise.  
"What'd you do that for!" the first man asked pitifully.  
"You killed her! Someone's going to get suspicious now! That wasn't  
part of the plan. And definitely as hell not a part of Cerdic's  
command."  
"Sorry......"  
A longer silence.  
"Well, we really must be off. Cerdic doesn't like being kept waiting.  
We'll just have to tell him what we found."  
Slipping the necklace back underneath her shirt, Kera stepped quickly  
to the other side of the door so she could see out the slight gap. The  
two men's back were facing her. The taller one had a long blue-black  
cape slung over his shoulder. Under one of his arms, he held a helmet.  
Helmet?! He looked like he had dressed up for a costume party or one  
of those parties where you dress up as whatever fetish you had. Toga  
party or something. Placing a tentative hand on the door knob, Kera  
steadied herself. The shorter man turned slightly around to face  
Kera's grandmother's hospital room.  
Kera almost fainted then and there.  
It was her uncle.  
Though she hadn't seen her uncle in quite a long time, two years to be  
exact, there was no mistaking his boxy face and square jawline. Ever  
since her grandma had gone through the first heart surgery, Kera's  
mom, Joan, had decided that home wasn't the correct place for grandma  
to stay. Since everyone was away during the day, what was to prevent  
her from tripping down fourteen steps, and adding hip surgery to the  
list? The hardest decision was when she decided to place Grandma Susan  
in a group home which was slightly better than a nursing home since  
there were only around 8 people living in the same house. But the fact  
was that she wasn't home anymore. Uncle Andrew had refused to visit  
her there, and if he wasn't going to even say hell or goodbye to his  
mother once in a while, it wasn't surprising when he turned his nose  
up to paying his share of the monthly group home bill. Around then,  
Joan decided that the silent treatment was the only punishment she  
could think of for her brother.  
With an ugly sneer on his face, Uncle Andrew blew an insincere kiss  
towards Grandma Susan.  
"Thanks for nothing," he said before adding, "mother."  
A growl rumbled low in Kera's throat as she kicked the door open with  
everything she had. It slammed right into Andrew's face with a  
resonant thump. Grabbing his cheek, he let out a whimper. Lifting his  
hand painfully away, Kera was happy to see that a large gash had  
formed along his right cheek.  
"KERA!" he said, his eyes glinting with fear mixed in with surprise.  
"You bastard," she said, her eyes burning with hatred, hands clutched  
at her side.  
The taller of the two men turned around. He was the one that had the  
softer more slicker sounding voice and was actually quite young. His  
hair was a dirty blond and his eyes were blue. Actually quite  
handsome, he gave her a smirk of approval.  
"And she would be..." he asked.  
"Niece," Andrew said quickly. "How much did you hear?"  
Kera laughed, throwing back her head.  
"Everything."  
The expression on the oddly dressed man changed immediately. His eyes  
grew hard. Without warning, he drew from his side a short dagger. With  
the flat side, he brought it hard across his body and slapped it into  
Kera's face. Then turning around he pulled Andrew along side him as he  
ran down the hall.  
Still stunned by the attack, Kera swayed dangerously on her feet. Her  
cheek stung like crazy and the blow seemed to have resonated into her  
skull like after a loud bell has sounded and the vibration is still  
stuck in your head. Shaking her head once or twice, she sprinted down  
the hall after the two. Grabbing a hold of the corner wall, she swung  
around just to see the two men fling open a storage closet. Yet what  
was inside took away Kera's breath for the umpteenth time that day,  
and brooms and mops don't do that to a person.  
Inside floating about a foot off the ground was something that looked  
like a looking glass. Except in the mirror wasn't a reflection but  
rather millions of swirling colors that emitted a bright light along  
with a slight mist that curled onto the ground and spread out like  
swamp fog. Andrew and the other man ran headlong into the radiant  
light without hesitation.  
Stopping in her tracks, she faltered. Then turning around she ran back  
to her grandmother's hospital room. Wrapping her thin arms around the  
dead body, she hugged her grandmother one last time.  
"I'm doing this for you, grandmamma. I'm doing this for you..."  
With that she let go and sprinted back down the hall, crashing into a  
nurse and knocking over a cart of medical supplies. Ahead of her was  
the storage room still wide open with the strange mirror of light and  
colors still waiting just for her. Digging her nails into her palms,  
she ran straight for the mirror, never stopping until she had vanished  
into it.  
Behind her, a form emerged from the shadow of a deserted hall that  
branched off from that hall. The wolf's lips turned up in what could  
have been either a smile or a ferocious grimace. Sauntering slowly,  
its tail held high behind it, it stepped around the fallen medical  
supplies Kera had knocked over earlier and into the mirror. As soon as  
its tail had gone through, the enchanted mirror shrunk until it was no  
more and all that was left was a storage room filled with mops and  
brooms.  
Authors Note: I'm doneeeeeeeeeeeee. And I did it in one  
dayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. YAYYYY. Please r&r and tell me if you like. 


	4. Arrival in a Different Time

Title: Forever More  
Author: Red Pollard  
Authors Note: Recently I burned my fingers when turning off my lamp so  
it's taken a bit longer to write this. Actually, I just can't think of  
anything so there really is nothing to write. But really. I burned my  
fingers.  
Disclaimer: These disclaimers always make me so depressed. No I don't  
own King Arthur. What more do you want from me! Crush my dreams?! They  
already are!!!!!! Kera's mine though.  
Chapter 4: ‡Arrival in a Different Time ‡  
Kera Rosenman was nowhere.  
Literally.  
The bright rainbow light soon consumed her and all the she could see  
now was intense white space. Kera felt as if someone was pulling her  
through this mystical dimension by her stomach, yet she was still  
forced to run. As she lurched through the white, she tried hard to  
keep up with whatever urged her on forward without loosing her speed  
on foot. Her footsteps rang loud and hollow upon the floor that wasn't  
really there. An infinite and featureless blank stretched around her  
on all sides for as far as the eye could or could not see. There was  
nothing above her head and nothing below her feet. Despite the total  
lack of spatial reference, she felt as if her running was actually  
bringing her somewhere. Though there were no landmarks to tell her  
that she had made progress, she sensed that she was moving while she  
ran, and that she'd been running for... what, hours now? Days? Who could  
tell? Not her of course. Her Timex had stopped working ever since she  
stepped into the janitor's closet.  
For a short moment, her feet left the ground and she was dangling in  
the air, while still speeding forward. Making a face, she grasped the  
invisible rope that held her around her stomach and tugged furiously.  
"Leggoh—off—me!" she hissed.  
Then suddenly, that force disappeared. Falling about a foot and  
stumbling over her own feet, she tried to regain composure, not used  
to being able to walk at her own pace now. Stomach still aching a bit,  
Kera attempted to stay calm but the fact was she didn't quite know  
where she was and that was enough to send a thin line of perspiration  
to her brows. An unexpected patter of feet sent her wheeling  
backwards. Turning around she saw the big, black wolf appear out of  
nothing. Bending its back it shook its neck roughly a couple times.  
Those large and inquisitive eyes blinked back nonchalantly at her.  
"Wha—its you—"Kera stuttered.  
The wolf stretched out its front legs and arched its back so that it  
went into an almost catlike stance. Opening its wide jaws the wolf  
yawned before quickly spinning around and bounding off in the opposite  
direction. /i it called out with its long, shaggy tail  
streaming behind him... it. Rolling her eyes with exasperation, she  
lurched forward, still uncertain where to put her feet in all the  
whiteness, and hounded after the wolf for the second time that day.  
The wolf had incredible stamina that she just couldn't keep up with.  
Whether it was magic or just pure inhuman strength, it always managed  
to keep Kera struggling to keep up. Her mouth hung open as she took  
uneven swallows of air. Powering her legs and arms, she ran on,  
determined to figure out where the wolf was leading her this time.  
This whole chase reminded her of a scene from iAlice in  
Wonderland/i where Alice chased after the White Rabbit.  
Funny how something to light hearted can be applied to life.  
Wondering when this cat and mouse chase would end, Kera swallowed the  
sticky knot of fear in her throat. When it seemed as if her legs would  
fall off and that she would never catch up with the wolf, the wolf  
stopped. Throwing a glance over its shoulder, it motioned towards him.  
Then without further adieu, the wolf disappeared into the white.  
Startled, Kera jogged slowly to the area that the wolf once was  
moments ago. It looked as if the canine had slipped behind some  
invisible wall that had blended right into the surroundings.  
Approaching the spot where the wolf had vanished, she was hit by a  
wave of cold air. The atmosphere in front of her seemed to bend and  
blur like air over an open gas grill would have. Yet the air was  
bitter and wintry compared to what it should have been. Shivering,  
Kera raised a hand in front of her at arms length, watching in  
wonderment as her arm bent into obscure shapes as if she was in a  
house of mirrors. Stretching her arm out a bit more, she abruptly  
yanked it back when the edges of her fingers disappeared momentarily.  
Taking an unsteady step backwards, she rotated her wrists so that she  
could scrutinize the front and back of her hand. There was not a  
scratch or mark to show for what had just happened. Another faint bark  
brought her back to her senses. It had come from somewhere ahead of  
her.  
"I'm coming!" she yelled to what she hoped and thought was the wolf.  
Taking a deep breath she stepped forward into the indistinct and  
obscure air. Immediately she felt as if she were walking through  
water. Her arms and legs refused to move at normal pace and her whole  
body felt sluggish. The air around her tugged at her face and clothes,  
pulling her skin taught over her bones to giving her a skeletal  
appearance. Squinting, she could see the blurry black form of the wolf  
not far in front of her. Kera growled out in frustration as she tried  
to move faster. Even the sound was strung out and unusual. Clenching  
her eyes together, she ripped her arms forward and lifted her legs in  
vain to try and run against the drive that was pushing her backwards.  
If it took everything she had, she was going to find that wolf, her  
uncle, and avenge her grandmother.  
Feeling a cool breeze against her cheeks, Kera opened her pale blue  
eyes (which were unusual for her Scotch-Irish roots). She was no  
longer in a different dimension. Where there was once just pure white  
was now replaced with a firm dirt road beneath her feet and bountiful  
amounts of tall trees around her. Making a 360 degree turn, she looked  
around for the black wolf. Further on, she could see where the path  
opened up from the thickly forested area to countryside dotted with  
small farms and huts. Clutching her jacket close to her chest, she  
continued down the path, not sure of where she was going.  
Faintly, the barely audible noise of hoof beats reached  
her ear. Steadily it grew louder, bringing her attention to the  
surroundings behind her. Turning on her heels, nothing could have  
prepared her for what happened next.  
  
Sun glinted off metal in a glitzy light show as the dark  
bay horse ridden by the armored knight trotted to a spot just past  
several low trees and stopped. The knight grumbled in a very un-knight-  
like way from within his helmet which he had decided to put back on  
just in case anyone decided to send another batch of arrows whizzing  
towards his head. Raising heavily armored hands, he swatted at the  
branches and leaves that had latched on for a ride when his horse had  
decided to take a short cut through the fields and right under a few  
trees that were low enough for it to pass beneath but not its rider.  
The knight grumbled again even louder when several evil leaves decided  
to attach themselves onto his gauntlet which he hurriedly smote with  
his other gauntlet. Then giving up, he took off both gauntlets and  
threw them to the ground.  
Reaching up, he lifted his stuffy helmet from his head to  
reveal a sweaty but curly crop of dark hair, and earnest brown eyes on  
a face that was still vibrant. Setting the helmet into the saddlebag  
once more, he leaned forward and rubbed his horse's damp neck.  
"We'll be back in no time. And then," he said with a  
content tone, "you can take a long rest back at the stable. I bet that  
chestnut mare will be happily awaiting your arrival."  
The bay nickered softly, bobbing its head up and down in  
agreement.  
A piercing bellow snapped the knight out of his musing  
trance. Snapping his head around, he reined the horse around. Another  
cry, much more fearful that the first sounded not long after, and it  
appeared to have come back from the forest, which he had been so eager  
to leave behind. Furrowing his brows he kicked his horse into action.  
The steed leaped forward, heels churning up dust as they galloped back  
across the field towards the trees, cloak billowing behind him.  
Charging down the path straight for her was a white  
stallion, or so Kera thought. She couldn't be sure due to the dirt and  
mud which had been so artfully and thoroughly rubbed into its coat.  
Upon its back, riding bareback was a man whose face was twisted into a  
scowl. His hair was chopped into a shaggy and unkempt mane that was  
oddly tinted green. His body was not much different yet with the  
occasional smear of soil upon his cheeks or his unclothed chest. Dark  
green tattoos ran up and down his arms and curved around his neck up  
onto his face. The man... creature's mouth was opened and he let out a  
noisy and not to mention unruly holler.  
While his left hand gripped the horse's dirty mane, his  
right hand bore a short sword that didn't have the normal 'T' hilt.  
Instead, it had a hilt that didn't had the two branches of a 'T'. The  
metal was rusty and jagged. Scrambling backwards, Kera began running  
as fast as she could towards the countryside. Her eyes were wide with  
fear as she dashed towards daylight. Yet it was quite clear to both  
her and the feral horseman that she would never outrun the horse.  
Throwing a hasty glance behind her she saw that the horse that was  
bearing down on her heels was smaller than it had appeared. It was  
only a sturdy mountain pony but nonetheless fast.  
The man slashed out with his sword towards her. Feeling a  
sudden agonizing sting, Kera stopped running with the pony still  
cantering away and clasped her right hand over her left arm. Bringing  
her hand away she saw that her palm was dripping with blood. Her mouth  
opened as she yelled out in surprise and pain. The man wheeled his  
horse around and aimed straight for her again. Raising her hands to  
protect her face, Kera backed up against a tree. She heard a whistling  
noise and then screaming as the sword sliced at her hands. Luckily  
just the tip of the sword had cut into her palm instead of hacking her  
fingers off.  
Suddenly attacks where coming from every angle whether  
they were from weapon or hand. Either there were more of these  
creatures of this man was one excellent swordsman. Metal contacted the  
soft flesh in her side leaving red trails of blood. Even her clothing  
was no protection against the assaults. Something hissed near her  
face, slashing at her cheek and forehead. Something hit her very hard  
in the stomach, knocking the breath from her chest. It was only a blow  
to the back of her head from the flat side of a sword that brought  
Kera to her knees. Blood dripped into her eyes and as the pain began  
to take over her, the attacks stopped.  
Waiting for the world to stop swimming before her eyes,  
she slowly got to her feet. Stumbling over rocks and roots she managed  
to find her way out of the forest and finally into the sunlight, where  
the brightness hurt her eyes immensely.  
The knight urged his horse on towards the forest. Nearing  
the dark woods edge, he quickly dismounted when he spotted a figure  
emerge from the dirt path that lead through the wooded area. Swinging  
off the bay, he jogged quickly towards the figure, leaving the horse  
to munch comfortably on the luscious green grass. Coming closer, he  
could see that the figure was a girl. Various places on her face had  
been nicked by a sword undoubtedly, and blood was slipping slowly down  
her cheek. Her clothes, strange as they were, had been cut up to  
reveal more places that she had been brutally attacked.  
Walking uncertainly towards him, she staggered and he  
leapt forward to catch her but she waved him away with her bloodied  
hands. Bumping her shoulder into his she roughly shoved away and  
tripped over her feet sideways. Maintaining her composure, her hands  
were raised by her side. Long black hair fell around her shoulders as  
it loosened from its tie. Stumbling constantly from her knees to her  
feet, the knight watched helplessly as the girl refused every attempt  
he made to help her. Her eyes were unfocused as she frequently wiped  
the blood from them. Each step she took down the path was even more  
uncertain than the last until her knees finally buckled and she  
collapsed in a heap.  
Crouching down, the knight lifted the girl's head slightly  
with his palm to get a better look at her face. Pushing back a few  
strands of hair, he used his thumb to wipe away a smudge of dirt mixed  
in with blood on her cheek.  
"Miss? You really need help. You're badly hurt," he said  
gently.  
Kera's eyes fluttered closed then open. Her cracked lips  
were open ever so slightly as she took in small breaths, her chest  
rising with every lungful of air.  
"Where am I?" she mumbled faintly. "What year is it?"  
The man pursed his lips for a moment. The Woads which most  
likely attacked her really must have caused her enough damage that she  
would forget such a simple fact.  
"We are in Britain. You are in the year of the rule of  
the Holy Father and Rome," he answered bitterly.  
Kera moaned and shivered. Her lips trembled as she tried  
to wrap her sore arms around herself but only winced as the skin near  
gashes on her arms stretched painfully when she moved her arm.  
It was time for the knight to question the girl now.  
Placing the girl's head back down on the ground with care, he pulled  
his cloak covered her.  
"Pray may I ask what your name is?"  
Kera licked her lips before answering.  
"Kera," she said. "And you?"  
The knight inclined his head towards her.  
"Lancelot. I be a knight in Arthur's court."  
Kera nodded subconsciously. The name did ring a bell. But  
her brain was swarmed with too many things at the same time. Her arms  
hurt, her hands hurt, her stomach hurt, heck! her face hurt. Her eyes  
sagged as she closed them, her body overcome with fatigue. From then  
on, everything went black.  
Author's note: IT's me again. I finished chapter 4! Aren't you proud  
of me. I hope I got most of the few facts I used correct. And for all  
you traditional King Arthur lovers (sword in the stone... Lancelot being  
French... sorry to disappoint you but I'm basing my story off the one  
written by Frank Thompson where Roman Briton is the main thing.) 


	5. True Camelot

Title: Forever More  
Author: C'est moi  
Author's Note: I've finally decided to start writing chapter numero 5.  
I'm finding it harder and harder to write now. My brain is like  
digging for ideas yet all of them are crappy. Have you ever known that  
feeling when you knew what was going to happen in the middle of the  
story but writing up to that point was just plain hell? Well I've  
gotten to that point. screams I've actually been using sources like  
my 7th grade history book. Thank you thank you thank you whoever wrote  
iThe Fall of Rome/i. And thank you Mrs. Williamson! Also, I tried  
reading through iLe Morte D'Arthur/i but the one annoying thing is  
that the book doesn't make references to dates. ARG!!!! Oh well.  
Thanks again to Frank Thompson. With his help I can start this story  
without seeing the movie. Not saying that I'm not going to see the  
movie which comes on Wednesday because that would just be wrong. Oh  
and some of the lines that I'm using are straight from either the book  
or the movie so don't bombard me with copyright warnings because I  
know!  
Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur but I sure as hell wish I did.  
Nyarg! Oh well. I own Kera though. That lightens up the mood a bit.  
Chapter 5: ‡True Camelot‡  
The girl's head lolled back as her eyes shut. With a final  
cough, she fainted. Lancelot sighed and took off his cloak. Wrapping  
it around the unconscious girl's shoulders, he lifted her up and  
climbed into the saddle. Resting her in the saddle in front of him, he  
grasped the reins tightly, forming a shielding wall around the girl,  
Kera, so she wouldn't slide off the horse.  
Clucking softly to his mount, he reined the horse back  
onto the path. Dust and dirt were churned up behind them in a cloud of  
earth as they galloped off across the fields and towards the small  
black line bordering the horizon.  
Hadrian's Wall.  
Calmness once again fell over the land. The only sound  
that could be heard for miles was the constant pounding of hooves  
striking against the dirt. Everything fell into rhythm as Lancelot  
leaned forward in the saddle. The girl seemed so small in his arms.  
Her head slumped backwards against his support, her mouth slightly  
ajar.  
iWhat am I doing?/i he thought to himself, looking  
into the girl's face.  
The wind whipped by as the dark bay, near black, pressed  
on through the fields, racing for some unknown speed. Stretching out  
its head, its long legs snapped at the ground and pulled back in so  
fast that its hooves nearly clipped his stomach. The stallion's black  
mane rippled as its great head bobbed up and down. Its tail trailed  
out behind it, slowly to fade back into the country surroundings of  
green and brown.  
Finally, the skies opened up to what they had predicted.  
Clouds raced to catch up with the knight, their long, billowing  
fingers reaching out above him. Rain poured from the heavens, soaking  
the knight through his armor. Shivering, he urged the horse faster  
with a tap of his heels. Soon, the small line that had bordered the  
horizon soon grew larger.  
Snaking across the grassy fields and cutting a path through snow-  
capped mountains was Hadrian's Wall, built nearly three centuries  
before Lancelot had been born, Hadrian's Wall. It was probably one of  
the most impressive structures he had ever seen, and most definitely a  
grand accomplishment for the Roman Empire. The wall stood almost  
thirty, towering any ride on horse and measured a vast eighty miles  
from end to end. It covered from the North Sea all the way to the  
Irish Sea with forts set one mile apart along the way, connected with  
blockhouses and military roads, guarded by strong garrisons of Roman  
legionnaires, adding another six feet in height. Built as a barrier to  
keep out the constant source of trouble in the north, the wall not  
only helped keep barbarian marauders away, but assisted in symbolizing  
Rome's ruling power and force.  
Not one to be messed with.  
Yet, if one surveyed Rome's "great achievement" closely, they would  
find that Hadrian's Wall wasn't as strong as its forbidding look  
portrayed. Certain areas along the wall had begun to crumble, the  
brick and mortar falling apart. Some fortresses were either abandoned  
or guarded by such a small group of soldiers that all it took was a  
small group of strong-minded men to overrun them. AS Rome's authority  
and control over Britain began to disintegrate with every rogue and  
determined soldier, so did Hadrian's Wall, weathering away little by  
little.  
Yet where there were faults to the wall there were definitely  
strengths. The Roman fortress at the wall near Badon Hill was  
certainly one of the sturdy and well prepared positions for many miles  
in either direction. Due to its strategic importance in battle and  
safety as a gateway straight into Britain, Rome had put more effort  
into keeping Badon Hill's walls strong, if not the strongest.  
Later on, Antonine Wall was built, just to cover a more northerly line  
as a double precaution for the Woads, but that wasn't saying much for  
it soon was abandoned leaving only rumble.  
The first soldier that spotted the dark horse galloping down the  
winding path towards the wall lifted a large signal flag and waved it  
in the air. Soon the sound of creaking wood was heard as the large,  
heavy door groaned open. The horse rode straight through the barely  
opened gate as rain continued to rain down relentlessly. Reining in  
the horse, Lancelot slipped out of the slippery saddle. The girl began  
to slide off the saddle but he caught her in his arms just in time.  
Taking long, brisk steps, he crossed the courtyard, his boots  
squishing in the puddles and headed for the dry safety of cloisters.  
Entering the dry building, he walked up and down the halls until he  
spotted a tall, elderly woman with a great mop of white hair on her  
head leaving a room.  
"Dear Galla," he called out.  
The woman turned her head towards him, her sparkling green eyes alert.  
"Please take this girl here and see that she is taken care to."  
The woman, though old as she may have seemed, was a whole lot stronger  
than what she should have been. Scooping Kera up in her brawny arms,  
she nodded and walked off towards one of the open roomed doors.  
"Now that that's taken care of..." Lancelot said, turning and striding  
down another hall.  
Everybody was already seated at their spots around the round table by  
the time Arthur entered the room. All of them rose to their feet to  
show their respect for him, their faces alert. Arthur's eyes looked  
proudly over each knight, yet they didn't seem as fearsome as they did  
on the battlefield, when instinct came first. Here they were among  
friends, not enemies, and were much more relaxed and at ease.  
The large wooden table filled up most of the room. In the middle of  
the table, was an iron hearth with burning coals in it. A great fire  
leaped up from them and every so often threw its simmering sparks into  
the air with a loud /i. Around the table were well over a  
hundred chairs, each one devoted to a knight that Arthur himself had  
labored over to sit there. But now only seven knights stood by their  
seats, the rest stood bare with merely the haunting memory of their  
previous owner to fill the empty space.  
Yet never would those chairs be filled with another knight, for Arthur  
had promised himself that he would never replace his knights. For  
after all, they were men, not toys which can be easily found in the  
blink of an eye. They were men, each one special with their own unique  
traits and skills. And each of them was willing to give their life up  
for Arthur. Irreplaceable was what they were. With Arthur's vow, their  
once great host of soldiers would continue to die down with each  
battle, until one day they would all be gone, with only the wooden,  
circular table, and all those affected back them to tell the tale.  
In the very beginning, it had only been the young Arthur who had  
joined the Roman army at the age of ten. As he grew, so did his  
determination. When he came of age, he was given his own small troop  
of soldiers and appointed officer. His father, Uther Pendragon, had  
also been a great leader of the Sarmatian knights. Arthur was one that  
respected tradition, and tradition required him to follow in his  
lineage's footsteps.  
With his stern commands yet popularity among his men, he quickly  
gained the reputation of a valiant fighter and a sharp leader as well.  
Though Arthur did not believe in hate, he had a bitter loathing for  
the Woads. There was never a day that didn't pass when he didn't  
relive the memory of his mother's death. The hot fire burning against  
his cheek as he rushed back to his house, his father's sword gripped  
heavily in his hands, only to realize that he was too late. The Woads  
had set his humble house ablaze, and his mother had been the  
unfortunate one to pay. The rotting stench of burning flesh still  
filled his nose and to this day, he hated the Woads. What had his  
village down to them? Nothing. And he didn't believe that the innocent  
should be punished for no reason.  
Unlike his friends, he didn't delight in killing. There was nothing to  
be proud of in taking another person's life away. But whenever he  
found himself in the midst of battle with the savage Woads, all of his  
beliefs vanished and inhuman abhorrence took over. He became heartless  
and merciless as he slaughtered as many tattooed warriors as his two  
hands could.  
Though winning battle after battle, Arthur soon became frustrated with  
his group of Roman soldiers. They just didn't have the dedication or  
heart to fight. If anything, they seemed like mercenaries who only  
fought if they had to or for money. That was when the idea came to  
him. He would form his own cavalry with men who actually had skill.  
For two years, with the help of his life long friend, Lancelot, they  
searched high and low for worthy fighters. Once that grueling task was  
over, Arthur probably had the strongest cavalry in all of Roman  
despite its size.  
Looking back at the large table in the room again, he smiled. Though  
there was no head of the table unlike the long rectangular tables that  
other Roman authorities were accustomed to sitting at, all the knights  
knew that there was a leader among them, and they were happy to  
recognize it.  
The castle itself that they stood in was not really a castle. This was  
no Camelot with its towers that soared high into the clouds, or its  
traditional moat swarming with blood thirsty alligators, nor did it  
have a king and a queen to rule over the estate. But in a way it was  
better than Camelot, for there were enough memories filling that very  
room that could have outdone a million castles.  
There was an eerie silence as Arthur surveyed the area.  
The room was practically bare save for the table, the chairs, and his  
men. Yet the rest of his men would never return to fill back the room  
with laughter and joyous happiness. No. They were dead, there bodies  
buried under the mounds of earth in the cemetery on Badon Hill. Either  
that, or their bones lay somewhere within the wide expanse of Rome's  
empire, unmarked but never forgotten.  
"Where to now Arthur?" one knight spoke up, taking a quick  
swig of his goblet.  
Arthur looked towards Bors with a fond smile.  
"My brothers, go get your battle gear and be ready to  
leave within the hour."  
The men immediately perked up. A mission, an adventure—the  
very reason why they existed.  
"Nothing dangerous, I hope, Arthur," Bors added.  
Arthur laughed. "And are you suddenly afraid of danger,  
Bors?"  
"Never," Bors replied. "But our term of service is done  
tomorrow. We are about to be declared free men."  
A round of cheers erupted. They were about to be set free  
after fifteen long and terrible years.  
Dagonet joined in the fray.  
"Bors is right," he said. "Be a terrible shame if we got  
ourselves killed just before we are granted our freedom. That would  
make for a lot of unhappy ladies who we have yet to encounter!"  
Little did Dagonet how much irony dripped from his  
statement.  
All the knights laughed. Tristran with a mischievous smile  
said, "Yes, I'm sure many a beautiful maiden is praying for the moment  
when Dagonet and his huge belly will come tramping in."  
Dagonet huffed indignantly. "We can compare numbers when  
it's over, Tristran. I will be happy to give you a head start!"  
Tristran shook his hair from his eyes. "That won't be  
necessary."  
Lancelot finally spoke up, his look completely serious  
compared to the badinage around him as he asked the question that  
everyone was wondering.  
"But where are we going to with our battle gear?" he said.  
"There is a representative from Rome coming here. His name  
is Bishop Germanus."  
The knights were not impressed. Out of all them, dead and  
living, Arthur was the only Christian in their midst. The rest either  
believed in religion as a counterfeit or stuck with their pagan gods  
of their Sarmatian heritage.  
Gawain said, "And what is so important about this bishop  
that calls for us to armor up? Is he lethal? Dangerous? Are we to kill  
him, for I highly doubt that one Bishop will prove us men any  
challenge."  
Arthur sighed then smiled, "Well, if you're so intent on  
killing the man that bears our papers of release—"  
The knights cheered.  
"They are coming directly through Woad territory. He is  
only guarded by a very few number of Roman legionnaires, and you know  
how useless they can be if there's trouble. So, naturally, our job is  
to go out and make sure Bishop Germanus and his entourage arrive  
safely."  
Bors interrupted.  
"Well, I would hate for anything to happen to those  
papers...but we do know that Tristran's an excellent when it comes to  
forgery..."  
Tristran nodded knowingly as Dagonet added, "Although I  
don't care what happens to the bishop."  
Author nodded, "Then protect the papers for your sake. And  
the bishop for mine."  
Lancelot began heading to the door.  
"Fair enough," he said, quickly shaking off his still wet  
hair. "Men. Let's go!"  
Arthur's Author's Note: Whoops! It's getting to my brain. Ok. So I'm  
done with Chapter 5. Don't kill me because I used a bunch of lines  
from the book and movie. I would stick this story up on   
but they don't have a section for King Arthur yet and I have no clue  
how to suggest one. If you look at all those POTC fanfics, you'll see  
they use just as much description and lines as well. So humph! But  
please r&r!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 


	6. Saving the Bishop

Title: Forever More  
Arthur Author: I really need to stop that. Oh and it's by me. Red  
Pollard. If you haven't noticed.  
Author's Note: Chapter 6 is up! Once again I must repeat myself and  
say that since this is kinda a fanfic/my own thing I'm using lines and  
stuff from the movie itself and the book based on the screenplay of  
the movie so don't sue me or something. I'm giving them a whole lot of  
recognition. I went and saw the movie the day it came out and I cannot  
say how happy I am. It was wonderful!!!!! I was practically crying... ok  
I was crying by the end of the movie. Did I hear it was to be a  
trilogy? Thank god. But I'm really angry since my dad threw away my  
ticket stub. But seeing Ioan Gruffudd more than made up for that. J  
Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur or their wonderful ideas but I do  
own Kera whose about to wake up from her unconsciousness. Whoops.  
Shouldn't have said that. You'll find out anyways. She can't stay  
sleeping forever if she and Lancelot are supposed to get together.  
Chapter 6:‡Saving the Bishop‡  
The gaudy and lavishly ornate coach moved laboriously over  
the forest path. Every so often, the coach would bump over a rock or  
tree root sending the passengers instead careening into the wall and  
sometimes, each other. The wheels strained against the deep ruts made  
by wagons and carts that normally passed through this area. Yet this  
coach had nothing to do with those "common" vehicles. This coach was  
guarded by a handful of Roman legionnaires. Each soldier scanned the  
forest trees that crowded in on the road on both sides.  
Inside the coach, Horton, the bishop's secretary stared  
out the small window nervously. The area in the carriage seemed to  
close in on him as he tugged at the top of his stuffy robe. He was a  
very little man, with beady, distrustful eyes and an overall rodent-  
like appearance. It was an amazement to both the bishop and him how  
far he had gotten in life already, seeing as he probably still would  
be stuck back in the village as a gardener without the Bishops help.  
Yet Horton had set his eyes on a higher prize, with the hope of  
someday becoming bishop himself. He might as well have been  
daydreaming.  
Outside, the Roman horses' bouncy gait never failed even  
though their senses sensed otherwise. Perceptive of the surroundings  
around them, their nostrils flared as they heard the vibrations of  
hoof beats even before their air headed riders ever did. A Roman guard  
patted his steed on the neck sensing its agitation. unexpectedly, he  
felt as if he were being watched. Looking upwards he spotted every so  
often a head disappearing into the trees. Everywhere he looked, there  
were more pale creatures peeking out to look at him. And as soon as  
they came, they vanished, stepping back and melting as one into the  
brush. Shaking his head he feared he was hallucinating.  
Suddenly, a formation of knights charged onto the plain in  
a tight single file. Even at a quick glance it was clear that these  
were no simple Roman cavalrymen, who were impossible to tell apart due  
to their identical armor. Each of these men was extraordinary, clad in  
different types of Sarmatian gear. At the head of the line rode a  
rugged, handsome man with a poised look plastered on his face. To his  
side was his best friend and right-hand man, Lancelot. Arthur's life-  
long friend, Lancelot had dark eyes that shined with the eagerness on  
the fought of an imminent fight. Though Arthur bore the weight of the  
responsibility, Lancelot worried about responsibility last.  
Drawing the legendary sword Excalibur from his sheath,  
Arthur raised it in his right him and thrust it towards the sky.  
"Dragon formation!" he cried.  
Immediately, the knights maneuvered into their position.  
The dragon formation was formed with one rider to move out in front of  
as the head of the beast to lead all the other riders. The rest of the  
knights fanned out to the sides to form a V shape. The flank was  
protected by the dragon's two wings—the stocky and muscular Bors, and  
the tall and sardonic Tristran. The wings were all armed with  
composite bows, crossbows, axes, and swords all drawn and ready.  
At the same time, the blue creatures jumped from their  
hiding spots in the trees, roaring and growling. They appeared from  
every angle possible, swarming from the forest with their weapons  
brandished and rushed towards the coach. Arthur and his knights  
quickly moved in front of the coach, surrounding them and getting  
ready as the blue creatures – Woads – drew nearer.  
The ugliest and largest of the Woads, clearly outdoing his  
fellow warriors with the most tattoos, his body almost completely  
covered in green ink, ran towards the leading Roman officer. The  
officer's conceited head got in the way as he spurred his horse toward  
towards the Woad, so confident that on horse he could trample the Woad  
to death. Ducking low, the Woad rolled over to the side just before  
the horse's legs kicked out at him and slashed upwards, cutting the  
horse's front legs off. Screaming, the horse crashed into the ground.  
The Roman officer was flung from the horse and rolled several times  
before his neck made contact with the Woad's short dagger.  
The Woads angled their bows up towards the sky, firing  
their arrows so that they flew over the Sarmatians' heads and found  
their target. Arrows rained down from the sky and barraged on the  
Roman officers, slaying them one after another. Even though the Woad's  
weren't so good at aiming, their cloud of arrows was bound to do some  
damage. Soon the coach was stuck with arrows, resembling something of  
a pincushion.  
Soon the Roman guards were in immediate danger of being  
overwhelmed by the Woads. The leader of the Woads picked up a severed  
head in his bloody hands and raised it high above his head, grinning  
in the most disgusting manner as his fellow warriors cheered him on,  
acknowledging his bravery. Suddenly, the Woads' cheers turned to  
frantic yells and hand motions. Turning around, the Woad saw Arthur  
swing his sword towards his face.  
Inside the coach, Horton cowered low in his seat,  
whimpering and covering his head. As an arrow flew in through the  
window, Horton threw himself to the floor of the coach shaking, while  
the arrow flew over his head and imbedded itself into the opposite  
wall. A man sitting next to Horton slumped over in his seat, his mouth  
gaping wide as an arrow struck his chest. Grasping at his brightly  
colored robes, he let out a grunt and slumped over.  
Although the Roman guards were falling from their horses,  
dead and lifeless as the Woads came and slashed at their bodies,  
Arthur and his men remained very much alive in the fray. Two carefully  
aimed arrows from Tristran and Bors brought down a pair of Woads  
standing near each other. One Woad leaped up onto the driver's seat  
and with a quick swipe with his knife blade, he opened up a large red  
gash at the driver's throat. Lancelot wheeled his horse around after  
trampling over several dead bodies. Leaping off his horse, he drew his  
two short swords from their sheaths in one single, perfectly  
choreographed motion and hacked into the Woad's back. Arthur charged  
into the scene, intent on protecting the bishop, and chopped the Woad  
off the carriage with a flawless swipe of his sword.  
Bors and Tristran arrived at the coach. Tristran gave a  
swift glance at the coach turned away only to be confronted by a weak  
Roman soldier. With his legs shaking and his arms wavering as he  
lifted his sword, he stood ready in front of Tristran to fight.  
"Lay down your sword," Tristran said.  
The Roman guard raised his sword slightly and narrowed his  
eyes suspiciously at Tristran and Bors.  
"Who are you?" he said.  
"We are knights, you fool," sneered Bors.   
"You care to kill your escorts?" added Tristran with a wry  
smile.  
Before the guard could answer, Bors and Tristran peeled  
away, swords held out in front of them as they searched for more Woads  
to kill. Near them, Dagonet powered past the gaurds on the opposite  
side of the carriage. Yanking back the canvas door he confronted a  
weeping Horton. A Woad arrow slammed into the side of the carriage.  
Horton shrieked and pulled back the canvas as if that would stop an  
arrow or sword. Dagonet shrugged and backed away from the carriage,  
charging back into the blood fest.  
A Woad hopped inside the carriage in attempt to try and  
kill the bishop, but was followed by Arthur who rammed Excalibur into  
the Woad's stomach. Horton, at this point, had had quite enough. Eyes  
wide with terror, he leaped from the carriage and ran around with no  
particular destination in mind,. Arthur gazed at the Woad with a sense  
of satisfaction as he drew his sword out from the limp body.  
Amid the fighting, Horton turned around and dove under the  
carriage, seeking invisible safety there. He could see horse's and  
men's legs running around. Every so often a body would drop down to  
the ground. A Roman legionnaire fell toe the ground beside the  
carriage, his lifeless face peering at Horton, who could only stare  
back and whimper.  
A Woad jumped up onto the back of Galahad's horse and  
wrapped his brawny arms around his neck. Galahad yelled out and  
wrenched his body to the left, elbowing the Woad in the stomach.  
Unbalanced, the Woad fell from the saddle and rolled directly  
underneath Galahad's horse. Releasing a short scream, the Woad covered  
his face as the horse brought down its large hooves onto its head.  
Several more Woads came at him, trying to push their swords into his  
back, but Galahad was quicker. Swinging his sword in an arch behind  
his back, he severed all the attacking Woad's heads from their bodies.  
Their headless bodies remained standing for a moment before crumpling  
to the ground.  
As Woads and Romans were killed one after another,  
Tristran and Bors let out a fury of arrows just as fast. One arrow  
from Tristran went straight through a Woads forehead and drove him  
back with such a force that the arrow hurled into a Roman guard  
standing behind him.  
"Whoops," Tristran said shrugging.  
Bors let out a hear laugh before letting out a quick arrow  
as a Woad lunged at him. The arrow propelled into the Woads chest so  
far that only the feathers could be seen. Pinned to the carriage, the  
Woad let out a piteous squeal before dying.  
Many of the Woads had been slain now. What had seemed to  
be an impossible task had merely been a bit of fun for Arthur's  
knights. One Woad tried to escape towards the river, his short legs  
powering beneath him. Hearing hoof beats, he turned around to spot  
Bors bearing down on him on his horse. Since he had run out of arrows,  
Bors shouldered his bow and pulled out his ax. With a quick whack,  
Bors knocked the man onto his stomach, the large red imprint of the  
head of the ax buried in his back.  
Lancelot rode down an aisle of Woads, slashing first with  
his left hand, then his right. Dagonet jumped from his saddle and  
jostled his way through a group of Woads slashing and slicing away  
with his sword. Many turned and ran into the river but Dagonet just  
followed and continued killing until he was standing waist deep in  
blood. Galahad and Gawain used their horses to round up the Woads in  
between them, then closed in around them and hammered down on them  
with their sword.  
For Arthur and Lancelot, it seemed almost like a childhood  
game to them. Arthur would race down the field after a Woad, driving  
it towards Lancelot, who then would drive his sword into their chest,  
not even bothering to pull it out. The body would drag along the  
ground for a couple meters before sliding off the blade. Then  
Lancelot, returning the favor, would chase after another blue warrior  
until it came into Arthur's deadly sword range.  
A Woad ran blindly towards Tristran, though his face had a  
large gaping gash spurting blood. His short dagger was directed in  
front of him as his other hand tried to stop the flow of blood  
coursing down his face. Tristran let loose a well aimed arrow that  
smashed into the Woad's chest so hard that it changed its course of  
direction and propelled it into the river.  
The killing was almost over. But not before Bors shoved a  
Woad under the water and stepping onto its back. On the shore, Dagonet  
hurled a Woad across his knee, breaking its spine, before tossing the  
body at Bors. Bors caught the flying Woad on his sword and waited  
patiently for the body beneath his feet stopped writhing. Just beyond  
him, Arthur chased the final Woad into the river. The other knights  
all surrounded the Woad lieutenant. Turning around, the Woad stopped  
defiantly as Excalibur came extremely close to his throat. Forcing the  
Woad down to his knees, Arthur was wary still for the hideous creature  
would and still could attack him with his bare hands though he had  
dropped his weapon.  
"Spill my blood on this ground," the Woad jeered, "and  
make it holy!"  
Arthur ignored him.  
"Who sent you?!" Arthur asked his breath labored.  
The Woad looked reluctantly into the forest. Arthur  
followed his gaze and spotted a tall, spindly figure standing at the  
trees' edge. 'Merlin' he thought.  
Arthur turned his stare back onto the Woad. His hand  
trembled for he wanted nothing more than to kill him. But Arthur was a  
noble man. He still held his honor, and refused to kill an unarmed  
man, even a Woad. Choking back the growl forming in his throat, he  
managed to speak.  
"Pick it up," he hissed pointing to the sword laying on  
the ground.  
The Woad's eyes opened in surprise. He had not expected  
this.  
"Pick it up!" Arthur said again, but this time louder.  
The Woad's eyes never left Arthur as he bent down  
slightly. Though furious from humiliation, the Woad shook with fear as  
his fingers closed around the sword's handle. Tightening his grip on  
the sword, he closed his eyes, hoping for death to come quickly.  
But instead of killing him, Arthur lifted his sword away  
and above the man's head. Not sure what was happening, the Woad  
lieutenant did not understand if he was being released or if he was to  
be killed. When Arthur made no further motion, the Woad scrambled to  
his feet and splashed away into the forest, disappearing among the  
dark vegetation.  
At the border of the trees, the tallest and wisest Woad  
stood. His once long, white beard was now cut short and replaced by an  
earth copper. Flanked by several very imposing Woad warriors, he  
watched without emotion as the Woad lieutenant clambered up the hill  
to him. Breathless, the Woad fell to his knees before the man.  
"Merlin, I did not negotiate to live!"  
Merlin did not respond but only looked past the Woad and  
down to the battle field.  
"Artorius..." he whispered.  
The Woad was almost beside himself with relief for he had  
been spared twice: once my Arthur and once by Merlin.  
Merlin and Arthur locked eyes for a moment. But just a  
moment. Confused and utterly tired, Arthur turned away and broke the  
spell not knowing what had just happened. Shaking his head, Arthur  
regained his composure. Turning his horse, he rode away to join his  
knights. As Arthur diminished from site, Merlin turned to the Woad  
lieutenant.  
"Gather up what is left of your men," he commanded. "We  
are leaving this place."  
Merlin's eyes softened as he looked at what was left of  
the Woads. Maybe he had made a mistake. But what was done was done.  
Turning, he sighed and led what was left of the Woad race back into  
the darkness.  
Author's Note: I'm so pissed at myself. Frank Thompson is such a  
freaking good writer! Arg. And Most of my ideas were from him so I  
feel useless. Oh well. This chapters done. I'm really bad at battle  
descriptions so I mainly used his. But this is a fanfic so shut up.  
Many many thanks to him. OH and almost forgot.  
wonderful wonderful line and description. Really needed to give this  
credit over the rest. Oh but this chapter is pretty much just  
describing what was already written down so don't kill me with  
copyrights and stuff. This whole chapter is just me adding my own  
stuff to what actually happened. 


	7. Freedom Delayed

Title: Forever More  
Author: Red Pollard  
Author's Note: I'm about to leave for London and I really want to work  
on my story while I'm there so I'm trying to figure out a way to do it  
while I'm gone. Please forgive me if this chapter isn't as well  
written. OH and seeing as I finally got to the part of the story that  
is actually in the movie and book, I will be using much information  
and description and facts that they used in the book since I reallllly  
need it. I'm just restating what happened. My ideas will come later.  
But you really can't just go on without knowing what happens in  
between the beginning and my ideas so I'm summarizing what happens in  
the chapters in the books. Kinda. I think. I'm giving a whole lot of  
deserved credit to Frank Thompson. Don't kill me.  
Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur, or Lancelot who I so wish I did,  
but I do with Kera.  
Chapter 7:‡Freedom Delayed‡  
Riding back over a field littered with corpses both of  
Woads and Roman legionnaires, Arthur and his knights turned their  
focus towards the coach which they had almost forgotten about.  
Tristran whispered softly to the carriage horses. They immediately  
calmed down. Lancelot yanked aside the canvas that hung over the  
carriage openings. Inside was the body of a man dressed in blood  
soaked ecclesiastic garment, an arrow protruding from his chest.  
"Here's a disgusting mess," Bors said, crinkling his nose  
in distaste. "I sure hope that's not the bishop there that's dead."  
Arthur rode over and examined the body. Then shaking his  
head he answered his men.  
"This isn't the bishop."  
One of the few remaining Roam legionnaires let out a hardy  
laugh. Taking off his shiny helmet, he revealed a man that didn't seem  
to be a soldier. He looked to be in his early 50s with graying hair.  
His dark brown eyes were small and mistrustful.  
"Artorius!" he laughed. "You haven't lost your ways."  
Arthur grinned ever so slightly.  
"Bishop Germanus," he said bowing, "you still have your  
tricks."  
Bors caught sight of a slight movement at his feet.  
Bending down he saw Horton huddling beneath the carriage, praying,  
weeping, and trembling. Pulling him out by his collar, Bors generously  
helped him to his feet. Horton whimpered and raised his hands to his  
chest, mumbling some Latin prayer. Bors curiously cocked his head to  
one side.  
"Now does that really work?" he asked, folding his hands  
together in the same prayer and mumbling. After a moment he stopped.  
"Nothing."  
The knights laughed loudly. But Horton stood straighter,  
as he tried to withstand the insult. Brushing himself off, he wiped at  
his red swollen eyes. Gawain had been riding around the field  
surveying the dead and finally returned to the other knights.  
Dismounting he kicked aside a dead Woad. Horton leaped back. The blue  
creatures still scared him as much as they had alive, yelling and  
screaming, and now while their decapitated bodies rolled around.  
"God help us," he cried crossing himself. "What are they?"  
"Devils," Bors said with a malicious gleam in his eyes,  
"who eat Christians alive. You're not Christian are you?"  
Horton gasped and crossed himself several more times,  
mumbling several more Latin prayers. Bors laughed and imitated the man  
again.  
"What are they...really?"  
"They are called Woads," Bors said.  
Horton looked confused.  
Sighing Bors rolled his eyes and explained, "Britons who  
hate Rome."  
"What do they want?" Horton ventured to ask.  
With a steely voice, Lancelot answered.  
"They want their country back."  
Arthur lifting his sword slightly in a salute to the bishop. A broad  
smile formed on Germanus's face.  
"Lucius Artorius Castus! Your father's image! I have not seen you  
since childhood."  
Arthur bowed and said, "Bishop Germanus. Welcome to Britain. Are you  
injured?"  
Bishop Germanus shook his head and held up his sword proudly.  
"I was able to keep the demons away from me," he said. "And thank God  
I was no forced to shed any of their evil blood."  
Looking around him with a touch of arrogance, he sniffed at the bloody  
corpses of Woads scattered across the field.  
"I thought the Woads' control only extended north of Hadrian's Wall,"  
he said prodding a dead body with the tip of his sword.  
"Occasionally they venture south of the Wall," Arthur said. "They know  
that Rome is anticipating its withdrawal from Britain, and that has  
only increased their fervor to terrorize."  
Germanus scoffed at the idea of Rome retreating from Britain but  
continued on.  
"Who leads these miscreants?"  
Lancelot replied, with a cynical edge in his voice, "He is called  
Merlin. A dark magician some say."  
Arthur waved his hand at the now battered carriage. "Your Eminence, if  
it pleases you," he said. "We have a long journey ahead of us, and we  
should get moving."  
Germanus nodded and dismounted his horse. Walking over to the carriage  
he stepped inside just as Bors and Dagonet dragged the bishop decoy  
out the other side and dumped him quite unceremoniously on the side of  
the rode, just one more corpse among many.  
Arthur turned away from the carriage to Tristran and said, "Tristran,  
ride ahead and make sure the road is clear."  
Tristran nodded and rode away. Then turning to his knights, Arthur  
gestured, making a circular motion with his hand. The knights  
immediately responded and moved into a protective circle around the  
carriage. Germanus poked his head out quickly from the coach and said  
to Arthur, "Tell me true, is there danger of another attack from the  
Woads?"  
Arthur shook his head.  
"They run in packs, these Woads," he said. "A dozen here, two dozen  
there. Even if they return, they will be no match for my knights."  
Germanus nodded. "I have no doubt."  
As the caravan and the knights rode through the massive Hadrian's  
Wall, not one of the men could hide their enthusiasm for it was the  
bishop himself that held their release papers. Arthur rode ahead of  
his men, leaving Gawain, Galahad, Bors, Tristran, and Lancelot to  
cheer among themselves. A wrinkle appeared across Galahad's face as he  
frowned.  
"If he is here to discharge us, why doesn't he just give us the  
orders?" he said cocking his head towards the coach.  
Gawain shook his head and patted Galahad on the shoulder.  
"Is this your happy face, Galahad?" he laughed. "The Romans can do  
nothing without a ceremony."  
"Why don't you just cut his throat first, Galahad," Bors suggested  
helpfully, "and discharge yourself after."  
Galahad frowned even more.  
"I will if it comes to that."  
Near the back of the group, Tristran held up his arm just as a large  
gray hawk swooped down from the sky. Perching upon his outstretched  
arms she let out a small breath and ruffled her feathers.  
"Where have you been now, old girl?" Tristran said in a low soothing  
voice.  
"When I get home," Gawain said," the first thing I will do is find a  
beautiful Sarmatian woman to wed."  
Bors looked at him skeptically.  
"A Sarmatian woman? That's the whole reason why we left!"  
An echo of laughter rippled through them.  
"And what of you, Lancelot?" Bors added. "What are your plans for  
home?"  
"Well, if this woman of Gawain's is as beautiful as he claims,"  
Lancelot said, "I expect to be spending a lot of time at Gawain's  
house. His wife will welcome the company no doubt."  
"And where will I be?' Gawain said in mock outrage.  
"Wondering at you good fortune that all your children look like me!"  
Lancelot said with a grin as he spurred his horse to a trot towards  
Arthur.  
Arthur turned in acknowledgement of Lancelot.  
"What of you, Arthur?" asked Lancelot.  
"Come tomorrow, I make my own plans for Rome," Arthur said with a  
satisfied sigh.  
"ROME!" Lancelot exclaimed. "And what will you do, Arthur, when you  
return to your 'beloved' Rome?"  
"Give thanks to God, Lancelot, that I survived to see it," answered  
Arthur.  
"Ugh! You and your God!" Lancelot said. "You disturb me."  
For that moment, Arthur's dark mood had passed. These fifteen long  
years were almost over and he would finally be able to feel optimistic  
for a reason.  
"Peace, Lancelot. I want peace. I have had enough of killing."  
As they stopped inside the fortress, Germanus stepped out from the  
carriage and almost stepped right back in. People flocked towards the  
knight in praise. Disgusted, he wrinkled his nose and eyed the meager  
surroundings. Only the Pope could have made him come to such an unholy  
place.  
Arthur motioned to the squire at his side.  
"Jols," he said, "give the bishop my quarters."  
The bishop nodded a not-so-humble thanks before walking away.  
Inside Arthur's chamber, Germanus was scrutinizing everything inside.  
Running a finger along the mantle of the fireplace, he sniffed when he  
found dust. Horton was unpacking their bags behind him.  
"Very kind of Arthur to give up his room," Horton said.  
Germanus did not reply but only rolled his eyes.  
"But of course it was no more than should have been expected," Horton  
hastily corrected after a moment of silence.  
Continuing his search, Bishop Germanus came to a small ceramic  
portrait of Pelagius. His face grew red as his hands closed in on the  
ceramic piece. This 'Pelagius' was considered a heathen in Rome who  
pretended to be a Christian priest. But in truth, he only spread  
blasphemous beliefs of the pagans. He felt infuriated to know that  
Arthur had studied with Pelagius back in Rome, and that such a  
talented and clear minded boy was being polluted with dangerous ideas  
of free will and that a man could save himself through his own  
integrity rather than of God. Chucking the ceramic piece at the wall,  
Germanus smiled fiendishly as it cracked into several pieces.  
The tension in the room was shattered when a knock sounded against the  
door. It was Jols.  
"Your Eminence, I am here to escort you to the fortress hall," he  
said.  
The bishop nodded gruffly and shoved past the squire. Horton watched  
his master recede down a hall.  
"When my master meets with your knights he must be seated last and he  
must be seated at the head of the table," Horton commanded haughtily  
and jogged after the bishop.  
Jols grinned broadly at the idea before adding quietly to himself,  
"Your master may sit his holy arse wherever he chooses."  
Arthur was the last to enter the hall. His knights looked up to see  
that he was wearing full Roman military attire with short skirt,  
leather-thonged boots and cape. As usual when they saw him like this,  
the knights were impressed by his splendor and were filled with great  
pride. Lancelot bowed reverently and said, "Hail Arthur!" The others  
followed suit raising their goblets.  
Suddenly, the rusty creak of the hall door broke their cheerfulness.  
Two heavily armored Roman guards ushered in Bishop Germanus followed  
at a respectable distance by Jols and Horton.  
Gawain leaned to his side and whispered into Galahad's ear, "See?  
Ceremony."  
As Horton first caught sight of the round table he inhaled sharply.  
"A round table? What sort of evil is this?"  
Jols chuckled and replied, "Arthur says that for men to be men, they  
must first be equal."  
Bishop Germanus disguised his disapproval and sat down.  
"I was given to understand there would be more of you," he said  
naively.  
Arthur blinked several times in surprise at the Bishops narrow-  
mindedness.  
"We have been fighting here for fifteen years. There were once many  
more of us."  
Germanus realized his blunder to late.  
"Ah. Of course. My condolences."  
Lancelot retorted to the lack of heartfelt apology.  
"And what brings a bishop all this way to deliver freedom to  
'servants' of Rome?"  
Germanus glared angrily at Lancelot, insulted by being addressed so  
familiarly by a common knight. But seeing Arthur's expression, he  
pulled a very fake smile onto his face and answered.  
"I volunteered. I considered it a rare chance to meet such great men  
and to serve my Pope. I could not be more grateful, I assure you."  
He nodded to Horton who quickly stepped aside as the Roman guards came  
in carrying a large wooden case. Lifting his goblet, Germanus stood  
up.  
"To you noble knights and your final days as servants to the Empire."  
Lancelot whispered to Bors, "Shouldn't that be day... not days?"  
Bors looked back at him with suspicion.  
"Alas we are all but players in an ever-changing world," Germanus said  
changing his tone of voice to subservient. "Barbarians from every  
corner are almost at Rome's door. Because of this, Rome and the Holy  
Father have decided to remove ourselves from indefensible outposts  
such as Britain."  
He shrugged casually, "I suppose the Saxons will claim it soon."  
Lancelot instantly sensed an ambush. All the knights raised their  
heads to listen more carefully.  
Arthur said, "Saxons?"  
"Yes," Germanus replied, weary of having to repeat himself. "In the  
north a massive Saxons incursion has begun."  
Lancelot furrowed his brows and gripped the edge of the table.  
"Saxons only claim what they kill."  
Gawain nodded emphatically and continued with Lancelot's thought.  
"And they only kill everything that crosses their path. It would take  
an entire legion to defeat them."  
"Indeed," Germanus said not really caring. "Gentlemen, here are your  
discharge papers."  
The knights leaned forward in anticipation as the bishop opened the  
wooden case. Inside were seven white scrolls neatly tucked into the  
purple velvet. They could almost taste the freedom on their tongues.  
But Germanus shut the box and handed it back to one of the guards.  
"But first I must have a word with your commander."  
The knights leaned back in their seats, exasperated. But they made no  
protest nor did they make any motion of leaving the room.  
"In private," Germanus added.  
"We have no secrets," said Arthur.  
Germanus tapped his foot on the ground and waited expectantly.  
Lancelot was the first to stand, although his expression was one of  
deep suspicion.  
"Come," Lancelot said. "It is better we leave the Roman business to  
the Romans."  
The room was now empty except the bishop, Arthur, and the two Roman  
guards.  
"Rome has issued a final order for you and your men."  
Arthur looked confused.  
"Their term is up. You came here with the papers that would free them.  
What do you mean 'final order'?"  
Germanus couldn't help let a smile creep across his face.  
"But please understand that this request comes directly from the  
Pope."  
Arthur stared distrustfully at Germanus but was prepared to listen. An  
order form the Pope was not to be taken lightly no matter how wrong it  
was.  
"You are to travel north to rescue the family of Marius Honorius."  
The words hit Arthur like a slap in the face. Gritting his teeth, he  
listened on, his hands clutching into fists.  
"And return with Marius's son, Alecto. He is of much importance. For  
that very reason, he was sent to Britain for safety. But with the  
Saxons approaching, the small legion with him cannot withstand."  
Arthur's mouth hung open in disbelief.  
"Alecto is the Pope's favorite godchild and pupil," Germanus  
continued. "He is destined to become a bishop and maybe pope as well.  
I am to be his teacher, patron on his path to the papal seat."  
Arthur had never trusted Germanus, but he never knew that the bishop  
had such cruel intentions. Everything had actually been meant only for  
the benefit of the bishop.  
"How do I go to those brave men and tell them that now instead of  
freedom I offer death? Those who have risked their lives fighting for  
a cause that was never their own?" he asked with a steely voice.  
"If your men are truly the knights of legend, this should be no more  
than a final adventure for them before freedom. Your men want to go  
home. And to get home they need to cross the entire breadth of the  
Roman empire. That should be no more dangerous that what the Pope asks  
of now."  
Arthur turned away in disgust.  
"Will you defy the Pope, Arthur?" Germanus said smiling all the time,  
enjoying this moment of torture. "Rome? God himself?"  
"You questions my faith?" Arthur interrupted bitterly. "I would not  
defy my God. Do not mistake a loyal soldier for a fool."  
"Do this Arthur," Germanus said earnestly. "It will please the Pope.  
You will save a valuable young man...and you have no other choice."  
Arthur sat down on a chair, seething with fury and despair. He dug his  
nails deep into his palm drawing blood.  
"Fufill this mission and your men will receive their discharge. The  
papers will be waiting here the moment they return. You have my word."  
Arthur stood up and answered coldly, "Keep your word," he said in a  
low, rumbling voice, "or I will have your head."  
Germanus grinned one last time, revealing yellowed teeth, before  
turning away and leaving the room. Arthur bent down onto his knees,  
folding his hands together. The wind moaned through the draft hall as  
if it were the voice of an angered God.  
"Fill me with your strength, my God," Arthur whispered desperately.  
"Help me vanquish all who stand in the way of that freedom my knights  
so justly deserve."  
And for that moment, Arthur cried. His lips still formed the words of  
a prayer, but no more sound came out, as his hands clasped tighter  
together, blood trickling down his arm.  
Author's Note: Done with Chapter 7. arggggggg. 


	8. Breaking the News

Title: Forever More

Author: Red Pollard

Author's Note: I've finally come back from London and I bought this great book about King Arthur and stuff. I really want to get the facts right. I missed the fricken King Arthur premiere! And it was like two blocks away from where we were staying. The irony is too much for me.

Disclaimer: Don't own King Arthur.

Chapter 8:†Breaking of the News†

By the time Arthur had joined the rest of his knights in the courtyard, everyone was in a joyous mood. Bors sat down next to a tall and very handsome woman named Vanora. Together they had had several children, how many, Bors couldn't remember. But the whole lot of them were illegitimate. This fact didn't seem to bother either of them. Bors pulled the cooing and drooling baby from Vanora's arms and cuddled it in a rough hug. Leaning over, Vanora gave Bors a lingering kiss and a knowing smile before getting up and meandering across the yard.

Nearby, Lancelot was throwing dice with a pair of Roman guards. Laughing he picked up the pile of money which he had won. As Vanora passed, she gave Lancelot a knowing smile similar to the one she had just given to Bors. Lancelot responded with a striking grin and nodded. Bors saw their exchange and began suspiciously checking the baby for any -resemblance to Lancelot.

A short distance away, Gawain and Galahad were hurling knives at a target on top of a turned over table. Galahad's struck the dead center. Tristran sat near them peeling an apple. Once the red skin was lying on the ground, he lifted his knife and tossed it languidly at the target. It struck Galahad's knife right onto the hilt.

"How did you do that?!" Gawain asked, fiddling with his knife.

Lifting a finger, Tristran pointed at somewhere beyond the table.

"I aim for the middle," he drawled.

Suddenly their attention was drawn to Lancelot's dice throwing game across the yard. One of the Roman guards threw down his dice in disgust and stood up.

"You cheated you Sarmatian scum!" he growled.

The guards reached for their daggers but in a flash, Lancelot's twin swords had cleared the leather and were pressed dangerously close to the Romans' throats.

"Speak… I beg you," he taunted with an icy smile. "Speak… so I can cut your heart out and eat it."

Dagonet was crossing the courtyard from Lancelot's side. Seemingly unaware of the Roman guards, he punched one of them aside and shoved the other one onto the ground. Shrugging his shoulders at Lancelot he said, "Sorry to spoil your fun, but they were in my way."

The small baby cuddled in Bors's arms began gurgling, cooing and staring googly eyed up at Bors. Waving a hand towards Vanora, he called her over. An idea popped into his head and on second thought, he turned Vanora around and pushed her gently to the center of the courtyard.

"Sing something for us!" he laughed.

Vanora blushed and shook her head. But the people whose attention she had attracted wouldn't take no for an answer. Galahad raised his goblet to her and cried out, "Sing!" other chorused in until Vanora bashfully obliged.

"Land of bear and land of eagle…" she began, her angelic voice negotiating the waves of the song in a graceful motion. Her song seemed to spread a momentary calm over the crowd, floating from her throat and wrapping all who heard in its spell. All quieted down as Vanora sung. Gawain had momentarily forgotten about the pretty girl he had sitting on his knee, and watched the woman singing, his heart appeasing.

"Land that gave us birth and blessing…" Vanora continued, her bright green eyes gleaming in the dark night.

Tristran sat on the edge of a table, his apple and knife held in his hand. But for that time he looked up and listened. Thoughts swarmed in his head as he thought of his home in Sarmatia.

"We will go home across the mountain…" Vanora crooned her voice growing stronger by the minute.

Bors's heart filled with pride as he looked first from Vanora to the now sleeping baby in his arms. Delicately smoothing a finger across the child's cheek, Bors wiped away a tear that had formed at the corner of his eye.

"We will go home, we will go home…"

Lancelot's expression softened as he forgot all else and stopped to listen to the melodious song. Normally the words didn't touch him but on this day, when he was to be free, he couldn't help but think of finally returning to his family after fifteen long years.

"…we will go home across the mountain…" Vanora concluded with Galahad mouthing the words with her, his eyes closed. Her voice trailed off and there was silence for a moment until—

"Arthur!" Jols said.

All the knights immediately dropped whatever they had been doing. Bors even dropped the baby in his arms in his haste to reach Arthur. The baby immediately began bawling until Vanora scooped him up in her arms and hushed her. The knights gathered around Arthur expectantly.

Arthur gazed somberly at his knights. After a pause he said, "We leave at first light."

Confusion spread throughout the group.

Lancelot said, "Leave?"

Arthur nodded. "Our final mission for Rome will take us far above the wall, where there is a Roman family in need of rescue."

The knights were silent, thinking they had heard wrong. But Arthur remained silent and his statement finally began to sink into their minds.

"Sorry. Must be drunk," Bors said shaking his head. "I thought you said we leave for a mission tomorrow."

"You had better get some sleep while you can," Arthur said looking down at his feet.

Gawain took a step closer to Arthur. "Above the wall?" he cried out. "That is Woad territory!"

"We have our orders," Arthur said quietly but firmly. "And when we return, your discharges of freedom will be here for you."

"But why?" said Gawain distraughtly.

"There are innocent people, a family, trapped in the north. They need to be brought out or they will die."

"Let the Romans protect their own against the Saxons!" he spat, chucking his mug at the wall.

"We are all going to die someday. If it is death at the hands of a Saxon that frightens you—stay here," Tristran said turning to Bors defiantly.

"If you are so eager to die," Galahad snapped at Tristran, "you can die right here! Some of us have something wroth living for."

"A noble death in battle," Tristran said calmly. "That is worth living for."

Dagonet, whose stare had never let Arthur, walked directly up to him. At his large size, he was even imposing to Arthur.

"The Romans have broken their word. Do we have the word of Arthur?"

Everyone held their breath as they waited for a response.

"Yes," Arthur said, returning Dagonet's look with respect and honesty. "You have my word."

That was enough for Dagonet who turned around to face the other knights.

"I will prepare."

Everyone followed Dagonet except for Lancelot and Arthur.

Arthur was deep in thought as he groomed his war horse. Placing the brush down, he groaned once and pounded his fist upon the wooden door. Kneeling down he folded his hands and said a short prayer when Lancelot walked into the stable.

"Pray—to whomever you pray—that we do not cross the Saxons," Lancelot said.

"My faith is my strength Lancelot," Arthur said looking up. "Why do you challenge this?"

Lancelot gestured to the ground and said, "I do not like anything that puts a man on his knees."

"A man does not fear to kneel before the god he trusts," he said staring hard at Lancelot.

"Answer one question," Lancelot said. "Do you believe in this mission?"

Arthur said in a monotonous voice, "These people need our help. It is our duty as soldiers to bring them out."

Fury burst into Lancelot's eyes.

"I don't care about your charge and I don't give a damn about Romans, Britons or this island!" he yelled waving his arm at the land outside the stable. "If you desire to spend eternity in this place, so be it Arthur. But suicide cannot be chosen for another!"

Arthur stood up, his temper growing.

"And yet you choose death for this family!"

"I choose life! For me and then men!" Lancelot yelled.

Arthur did not answer.

"How many Saxons are there?" Lancelot challenged, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips. "How many?"

Arthur looked up but the words would not come to his lips now. Lancelot stepped forward towards him, his cold look mitigating.

"Arthur," he said after a moment, "you fight for a world that will never be. Never. There will always be a battlefield… I will die in battle." he added as an afterthought, nodding his head. "Of that I am sure. And, I dearly hope, a battle of my choosing. But if it be this one, grant me a favor."

Their faces were within inches of each other now.

"Do not bury me in our sad little cemetery back on Badon Hill. Burn me," he accentuated. "Burn me and cast my ashes to a strong east wind."

There was a long silence before Arthur spoke up again.

"They are more important than you know, Lancelot," Arthur said suddenly with a soft voice.

Lancelot looked at Arthur with question.

"If this family is not saved, then Germanus will deny your freedom. No one will be released."

Lancelot looked stunned at the significance of the mission. He turned and walked to the door of the stable, looking out into the night as if to find a speck of hope in the darkening sky. Arthur walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, desperate to make his friend understand.

"Lancelot, tell me…" Arthur pleaded, "…what other purpose do we serve?"

The Saxon army was cast in the deep orange glow of the British village they had just set on fire. Nobody asked the Saxons why they randomly killed, but then, or course, nobody asked the Saxons anything. If you met one, it was safer just to run. No prisoners were taken and Cerdic, the Saxon leader, had made sure that no one had survived. The dreadful moans of the barely alive filled the air as the smell of sizzling flesh staunched the air. Supplies were being refreshed as the many Saxons raided each house and took as much as they could hold. Cerdic sat in the center of the village, surrounded by his bodyguards. He had long, matted, gold hair and a beard of the same color. His eyes were small yet held the same evil intent they had had for the past years. He was known as a leader of great courage and even greater cruelty. His Saxons obeyed his commands without question or hesitation knowing that any uncooperativeness would be met with the same savagery Cerdic dealt with his enemies.

Just behind him, a large rip appeared in the air. It looked as if the landscape had been just a painting and someone had torn a hole in it. Inside the hole swirled dark colors yet the edge of it sparkled a bright white. A leg emerged from the hole as if from another dimension. Following the leg was the rest of Cynric's body. Cynric was his malicious son. Not quite eighteen, Cynric tried hard to impress his father but lacked the fearsome quality that he so desperately tried to project. He had the same cruelty his father had but not leadership qualities. Though on his behalf, Cynric was unaware of the respect his light infantry had for him. Even his lieutenant, Raewald, despised him. He thought that his fellow Saxons viewed him as a great leader. But beneath this veil of arrogance was the only fear that kept him down. The fear of his father.

Cerdic stared at the burning houses around him, a sense of finality swimming over his senses. No matter how many times he ransacked villages, he was constantly intrigued by how the people reacted when in fear. Those who were being lead away in chains still fought to get back to their families. Crying mothers reached out bloody hands towards their children who were crying out in the same suit. He had never understood that concept. But then again, he had never felt a sense of fatherhood towards his despicable son.

Turning he saw Cynric and Andrew emerge from the portal. Throwing Andrew a hateful glance, Cerdic stood up.

"Did you find it?" Cerdic said to Andrew.

Andrew shook his head slowly.

"The old woman must have hid it," he said.

"Did anyone see you?" Cerdic said.

"I—um…" Andrew stuttered.

Cynric elbowed him in the side.

"Ok! Ok! My niece was there. I have no idea where she came from but she overheard us talking."

Cerdic's eyes grew cold.

"Where is she then?"

Andrew shrugged. This only enraged Cerdic more who took few steps to close the gap between them. Cuffing Andrew beneath the chin, he lifted him clear off the ground. Andrew gagged as he clawed at his neck for air.

"I-I—" Andrew coughed, "The portal may have closed without her—I don't know!"

Nearby, one Saxon was tearing at a young British woman's clothes. Cerdic heard her cries above the din and was surprised himself. Dropping Andrew, he went and pulled the Saxon off her he threw the man aside. The woman's eyes filled with tears as she threw herself at Cerdic's feet.

"Thank you my lord…" she wept.

Cerdic looked down at her in revulsion before stepping away.

"Kill her."

As the woman was dragged away kicking and screaming, the Saxon that had been thrown aside stood up rebelliously. Storming up to Cerdic he wavered uncertainly on his feet due to the large amount of alcohol he had just consumed.

"According to the law, no man may be denied the spoils of—"

Cerdic's hard glare quieted the man.

"No man may deny you?" Cerdic said pulling out his sword. "I am no i man /i ."

With a single motion, Cerdic ran the soldier through. The Saxon fell to the ground, writhing as blood bubbled to his lips. His eyes glazed over and he was still.

"Are there any more of you," Cerdic said, "not strong enough to forego a moment's temptation for the future of our kind?"

Cynric stepped forward and said, "Yet you kill our kind."

Cerdic looked around at his men and smiled as if to make up for Cynric's stupidity. Pulling his son close into a bone crushing embrace, he patted Cynric on the shoulder.

"Walk with me…"

As soon as they were out of hearing range of the other Saxons, Cerdic said, "If you question my tactics ever again, I will kill you. I will gut you like a pig."

Cynric shook fearfully and said worriedly, "I am your own son—your own blood."

"I will spill your blood—the blood of my own, as I spilled the blood of my own father."

Cynric just stared at his father in shock, too lost for words.

The next day, the army moved on to another small British village. While halfheartedly supervising the troops, Cynric looked up to see his British scout moving slowly towards Cerdic.

"We are two days from the Roman estate if we camp one night," the scout named Geoffrey said.

"What can we expect between here and the estate besides Woads," Cerdic asked.

"I would expect trouble from this direction," Geoffrey said pointing at a picture of Hadrian's Wall.

"What troops are stationed there?" Raewald said.

When Geoffrey hesitated Cynric commanded him to speak up.

"Sarmatian knights," Geoffrey said reluctantly. "Arthur Castus is their leader."

Cerdic looked up sharply at the mention of Arthur's name.

"Who is Arthur?" Cynric asked, noticing his father's reaction.

"A warrior of great fame. It is said he and his knights have never been defeated in battle," Geoffrey explained.

Cerdic smiled maliciously.

"When I kill him, my fame on this island will rise."

By nightfall, the Saxon army was prepared to leave the village. Cerdic raised his hand and called out to his men.

"Cleanse this earth!"

Immediately, dozens of torches were tossed into huts which bursted immediately into flames. Any remaining villagers were finished off by the swordsmen. When there was not a living soul still remaining, the Saxons moved quickly from the village, the raging fire burning white hot at their heels.

Author's Note: Done with Chapter 8. So tired………..


	9. Leaving for the North

Title: Forever More

Author: MEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehahahahahah.

Author's Note: I'm so proud of myself. I wrote chapter 7 and 8 on the same day. So now I'm going to try and finish Chapter 9 as soon as possible. This one I'll actually put more thought in it.

Disclaimer: Don't own King Arthur (just merely re-summarizing what already happened so that the readers will understand) but I do own Kera.

Chapter 9:†Leaving for the North†

The first sunlight flooded into the chamber, capturing a million motes of dust within its golden beams. The room was sparingly furnished with only a small bed in the corner, a vanity mirror in the other, and a plain wooden chair. The fortress wasn't known for its great lavishness but rather the great people within. A patter of footsteps approached the room from down the hall. The wooden door creaked open as a wandering dog pushed its way in to explore. It had noticed the new scent in the fortress and wanted to find out what it was.

Shaking its large, floppy ears from its eyes, it padded softly over to the bed. A thin figure lay sprawled on top of the quilt, its hand dangling over the side of the bed. Sniffing the hand, the old dog rose up on its hind legs and rested its paws on the bed. Reaching out its neck, he nudged the figure's face with his wet nose. Getting no response, he tentatively licked the figure's cheek.

"Grandma….." the figure whispered.

Turning over, the girl opened her groggy eyes. In front of her the light hurt her eyes as she tried to figure out what was the form standing next to her bed. Silhouetted against the brightness, which could almost have been emanating from its body, was somebody. A ring of dust formed a shimmering aura around it. Placing her hand above her eyes, she squinted them in concentration.

"Hello?" she said.

Suddenly, a large brown face appeared before her. The large dog cocked itself to one side and let out a bark. Then jumping onto the bed, he woofed happily, stepping on the girl repetitively as he hopped around on the bed.

"Holy crap!" the girl yelled bolting up in the bed, clutching the sheets to her chest.

The dog immediately yelped and leaped from the bed. Scampering from the room with its tail between its legs, its claws scrabbled madly on the wood floor.

Sighing, the girl got up and walked over the mirror. The room was chilly in the early morning and all she was wearing was a large over shirt that someone must have lent her. Slipping out of the shirt she stared at herself in the mirror. Several long cuts covered her arms and bare legs but most of the damage had been done to her stomach area. Running her fingers over the cuts she was amazed at how quickly most of them had healed. Thick, white bandages had been wrapped around her ribs. Most of the blood wounds beneath the cloth had clotted up but the bandages had soaked up whatever hadn't coagulated leaving large red stains. What had been a shallow cut on her cheek was now a faint scar. Looking around the near empty room for something more than just a shirt to wear, she spotted a dark scarlet gown draped over the chair. It wasn't anything too fancy, with a wide neck, large sweeping sleeves and a low, gilded waist; it was just an average dress. The bottom fell into pleats and allowed a wide range of freedom. Tightening the girdle harshly around her small waist, she stepped out hesitantly into the cold hall barefooted. Shivering, she pushed her messy, black hair from her face she looked around. At each end of the seemingly endless hall were two great stained glass windows. The soft dawn light streamed in through them, casting a circle of dancing rainbow colors on the marble floor. Smaller halls branched off to places unknown. Hearing voices around the corner, she crept up next to the wall, pressing herself against it as she peered around the bend.

Sliding against the wall, she slipped into the next hall. She could see several fully armored men talking amongst themselves near the end of the passage. Their voices were low and somber as they conversed and finally after several minutes, they dispersed leaving one man standing by himself. He stared out the glass window, his eyes searching for something that wasn't there.

Testing her chances, the girl tried to quickly run into another corridor without being seen, but only succeeded in tripping over the dress at the same time. Stumbling, she cursed out loud.

The man turned abruptly around, hearing the noise. He was the same knight that had brought her back to castle. Lancelot he had called himself.

He quickly reached out his hand and made a step forward as he saw her stumble down the hallway.

"Kera—look out!"

But unfortunately, the dark lighting of the hall had made her think that the area before her that had seemed to be a flat floor had really opened up to a flight of stairs that led down to another level. There was then a flat area before another flight of stairs led back up to the previous floor. Kera hadn't seen that.

Tumbling down the stairs, Kera shoved her hands out in front of her to break the fall. Wrenching her body sideways, her shoulder hit the steps as she proceeded in sliding down the steps head first. Her hands scraped along the treads as she tried to grip the corner of a step to slow her fall, but this only caused her nails to crack and break and her fingers to bloody. Descending across the stairs diagonally, she slammed her head into the railing. By instinct, she covered her head with her arms, trying to protect it from anymore harm. Falling head or heels, she finally skidded the last few steps to a halt at the bottom landing. Her right ankle was twisted at an odd angle as she moaned softly.

Lancelot hurried down the stairs, skipping two steps at a time until he reached the bottom. Bending to his knees, he brushed a hand over Kera's oddly placed ankle. Hissing, Kera recoiled and tried to back up but her hands gave way when she pressed them against the floor.

"I tried to warn you," he said pitifully.

Kera nodded her head and reached out her hand for the hand railing. Wincing in pain, she pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, lifting her now swollen ankle a little way off the ground. Hopping towards the flight of stairs that lead back up, her left leg almost gave out on her. Though she couldn't quite see Lancelot in the dim area, she could sense his presence near her. Lancelot then stood up and draped her arm over his neck.

"Lean on me," he said taking slow steps towards the stairs.

Kera gripped his shoulder as they both awkwardly made their ascent up the stairs. Every so often she would stop and regain her composure before hopping on one foot up the stairs again. It took them a long while to reach the top, but Lancelot never once said a word. Patiently, he made sure that she wouldn't fall back or sideways to sprain the other ankle.

Once at the top, he called out for Galla, who always seemed to be around. She rushed out from one of the rooms towards them.

"She hurt herself again?" she said.

Lancelot nodded and waved his hand at the flight of stairs behind him.

"Didn't see them, I suppose."

Galla hoisted Kera up into her arms, careful not to disturb the wounded foot and brought her into the dark infirmary with Lancelot trailing behind. Inside, there were several cots lined up at intervals along one side of the wall. On the other side, were five or six cabinets filled with small bottles of remedies and potions just for the sick or wounded. Galla felt Kera's ankle with gentle hands for a moment. Gritting her teeth, Kera dug her bloody fingers into the bed sheets. After a moment, Galla concluded, "It's sprained. This might take some time to heal. The ligament is not severely damaged but it is critical that it is not injured any further."

Two nurses brought in a bowl of cold water and a small towel. Dipping the towel into the water, Galla wiped away the blood on her fingers then placed the wet towel onto the ankle. The throbbing in her foot had slowly subsided but the pain was still there.

"In an hour, I will come back and bandage it, but for now just keep applying the towel to reduce the swelling."

Galla left the room and Lancelot sat down on a cot next to Kera's and rest his elbows on his knees. Though it was dark in the room, Kera could feel Lancelot staring a hole into her head.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she said.

"I'm sorry but I have been wondering where do you come from? When I saw you at the edges of the woods, you were dressed in strange garb. I have not known women to wear trousers before."

Kera bent her left foot slightly and flinched as pain shot up her leg.

"I come from Scotland," she said. "It's difficult to explain."

She fingered the Celtic necklace hanging around her throat. It was a big odd to talk in the dark but she continued anyways.

"I'm not from here. I'm not quite sure even how I came here."

Lancelot sat up straighter as she mentioned Scotland but did not make any remark.

Shifting into a more comfortable position, Kera sighed. Her eyes wandered around the room, taking in the feeling of the place. Only hours ago had she been safely tucked away in her bed. But now she was roughly in a time six hundred years before sitting in a fortress where savages and knights actually did exist not only in stories but for real.

"I…" she began, "we live near the wall. Quite near actually. Just on um… the outskirts of the forest. My parents wanted me to find firewood for the hearth so I went out into the forest. I didn't know what would be in there. But before I knew it…" she paused to try and think of something else to say, "…those creatures came out from no where."

Her tale of lies seemed to have been believable enough. The Woads, as she would later on find out they were called, were vicious creatures and it wasn't surprising that she had been attacked. Yet she still hadn't answered why her clothing had been so wrong for their time. But Lancelot decided not to press matters and let the subject drop. Kera lifted the towel from her ankle and scrubbed away the blood from her hands.

A nurse came into the room. Moving her way around the wall, she opened up the curtains, letting a storm of light come in. Kera shielded her eyes, unaccustomed to the sudden change of lighting. The window above her bed shined a bright beam of light onto the bed, warming up her cold body.

Lancelot covered his eyes as well as the sun hurt his eyes. When his eyes had readjusted he almost had to look twice to make sure he was seeing the right thing. Kera looked completely different than when he had first saw her, covered in blood and delirious. Here, her skin was cleared of the dirt and blood that had gritted up on her cheeks. Her hair fell down to her waist in a loose braid and her eyes seemed brighter than when she first stumbled out from the trees. Her lips were thin and her cheekbones high and sculpted. It had been completely different when he met up with her in the dark halls where he hadn't been able to see her clearly.

Kera, unaware of his intense gaze, pulled back the edge of her dress to her knee. A large, purple bruise had formed on her shin. Not quite sure what to do, she placed the damp cloth over it for a few seconds before wadding it up and setting it back on her ankle. Lancelot, surprised, looked away.

"Am I that hideous that you can't look at me?" Kera asked annoyed slightly.

Lancelot averted his eyes from her uncovered legs.

"Women do not show their legs around here. Yet you are so bold and do," he whispered with embarrassment.

Throwing up her hands, Kera heaved a sigh.

"If it makes you all that uncomfortable then fine," she said yanking her dress back over her legs, "but honestly, it's just a leg. It's not like breasts or something."

Immediately realizing her mistake as Lancelot drew his head back, she covered her mouth. The corners of her eyes crinkled up as she laughed behind her hand.

"Oh. I shouldn't have said that."

Lancelot smiled forgivingly. Kera wasn't like all the other women that he knew. She didn't care about rules and even less about traditions. She would make a wonderful Sarmatian warrior. One more person against the Romans. He felt something stir in his stomach, an uneasy feeling that he hadn't ever felt before. Kera tilted her head and grinned sheepishly at him and he couldn't help but smile back.

Just then their quiet moment was broken by the sound of claws clicking against the floor. Coming in from the door was the same dog that had woken Kera not too long ago. Wagging its tail enthusiastically, he walked towards Lancelot and happily rubbed itself against his leg very much like a cat would. Lancelot reached out a hand and ruffled the dog's head. Then the dog turned around and placed its forepaws on Kera's cot and shoved its nose into her hand.

"Seems like Adder already knows you," Lancelot said.

Kera scratched the large brachet behind its ears. His hunting dog body, growing stout in middle age, still trembled to a look. A wide patch of black hair covered most of its back while the rest of him was either tan or white. His tail ached with wagging and even his hips moved from side to side as he shook.

"He woke me up this morning," Kera whispered more to herself than anybody, fondly smoothing down the messy hair on its long muzzle.

A sharp rap on the door brought them to their senses. The door creaked open and a head appeared around the corner. The man stepped cautiously into the room and his stare flashed first from Lancelot to Kera then Lancelot again with suspicion growing in his eyes. But if he suspected anything, he didn't make it known. He was a brawny man, in his late forties with a receding hairline and a hard face. His roundish stomach bulged slightly from underneath his breastplate. Dressed in full Roman armor, he looked ready to tackle an entire army of whatever happened to be his enemies.

"Lancelot," he said, "the sun is already risen. Arthur and everyone else are waiting at the gate. You'd better hurry."

"I'll be shortly, Bors," Lancelot addressed.

Bors quietly closed the door behind him as he left. Kera soaked the towel once more in the warming water.

"Where are you going?" she asked, not raising her eyes.

"Arthur has been given one last order from the Pope before we are given our release forms. We must accompany him to north of a wall. There, a family is in danger of the Saxons."

"How long will you be gone for?" she questioned, standing up hesitantly.

Lancelot stood up as well.

"A few days at the most. Galla will take care of you while we're gone," he said, starting to leave.

Kera tested the weight on her ankle and sat right back down.

"I'm staying?!" she exclaimed a bit louder than she had meant to.

Lancelot faced her and sighed. She sat before him, her eyes bearing into his with seriousness.

"The journey is too dangerous. Besides, you have no need to come. The chances are that the Woads will attack and it would not make sense for you to get hurt again," he explained.

"Woads?"

"Savages in upper Britain that inhabit the forests and claim whatever land that they can."

A rap came at the door again. Bors stuck his head inside to examine the situation.

"Lancelot. Come on!"

Lancelot turned both ways, his eyes pleading with Kera.

"You'll be safe here," he said quickly before leaving the room briskly.

Author's Note: I'm done done doneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. They really should make a section for king Arthur on Then I could finally stick this lot of a story on it.


	10. To Rescue the Marius's

Title: Forever More

Author: Can you say meeeeeeeeee????????

Author's Note: I think this is the farthest I've ever written for a story. Normally I can't even get past chapter two so cheers to today when I finally start chapter ten. Lucky number I suppose. Although eight is a whole lot better.

Disclaimer: through muffled sobs OKOK! I don't own King Arthur!

Chapter 10: †To Rescue the Marius's†

Lancelot's horse had already been saddled up and geared to go. The stable where he had spoken to Arthur previously now doubled as an armory. With shields, axes, swords, spears, pikes, armor, and halberds among other things hanging upon the walls far away from the horses, the armory was a well equipped place. The room was silent as Lancelot walked in. The rest of the knights were making last refinements to their weapons, although they were by now, spotless. No one raised their head from their work when Lancelot entered. No one really wanted to acknowledge the fact that their freedom was being postponed. They had worked for so long, only to learn that once again, the Romans and their 'holy' father had another secret that they had forgotten to mention. A dark cloud of pessimism hung over their heads as the sun's light first crept into the stables, awakening the sleepy horses.

Lancelot hurriedly clasped his armor on. Slipping into his shirt of chain mail, he then fastened his thick, leather breastplate on. Shoulder plates fell easily beside his neck as he tightened his belt and fixed his arms with metal arm-guards and his shins with metal guards as well. Then snatching his twin swords from off the wall, he with a deft motion, slid them into their scabbards on his back. By the time Arthur walked into the stable, the rest of the knights were beginning to lead their horses from their stalls and out into the little courtyard that was connected outside. No one spoke to him but he understood. They needed time to get over what was actually happening.

Squire Jols had just finished packing all the equipment when Arthur stopped him. Placing a hand on the squire's shoulder, Arthur examined all the excess armor and weapons that had been strapped onto the horses.

"Keep it simple," he said. "We don't want to be weighed down. We travel light and fast. There is no need for full Sarmatian battle gear."

Jols nodded and hurriedly unstrapped all the heavy armor from the nickering horses.

When everything had been packed, Arthur rode out on his snow, white horse. His head was still held high even though the heavy burden of melancholy weighed down on his chest. Then immediately, they broke forth from the courtyard, spurring their horses into action. Nobody looked back as they thundered down the small dirt road towards the gate that was being pulled pen by two heavy draft horses and many more men. Nobody looked back except Lancelot. His eyes wandered across the building that was slowly receding behind him, searching for something. Suddenly he spotted a figure appear at a tall window on the upper level of the building. It was Kera.

The two locked eyes for a split second, as Kera stared hard into his face. Finally, Hadrian's gate was open and Lancelot turned back around to face the wide fields of grass growing before him. The small band of men burst through the opening, their horses' legs snapping at the ground, as slowly, the fort behind them disappeared and the broad plains of uncertainty grew larger. The sight actually moved Lancelot, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. Then of course, he secretly loved adventure and couldn't help but look forward to this new challenge.

That night it rained. The storm broke and swept into the chamber through the partially opened windows. The wind raced through the small crack as the clouds were torn apart by writhing serpents of lightening. Rain lashed down against the outside walls as swirls of water danced in the air, undisturbed by the phenomenon hailing around it. The wind rattled the window panes as the flames in the small hearth across the room sputtered out. A loud clap of thunder woke Kera up as the cold whistled in and chilled the room. Sitting up in her bed, she shivered; a small creature against a sky of black. Her ears rang as she slowly got up.

Drawing an oil-slicked cloak over her shoulders and head, she limped silently out into the hall. Galla had bandaged her ankle earlier with cloth. Making sure not to fall down the same flight of steps, she made her way under a covered passageway to the stables. Earlier, after Lancelot and the other knights had left, Galla had put her to work at the loom. Her hands unaccustomed to weaving, managed to tangle the threads several times before Galla had come in and shooed her away. She had wandered aimlessly around the fort, bored out of her mind. What had really caught her attention was the stable. After slipping by the sleeping stable boy, she had watched in secret as a dressed up lady led a dappled gray horse from its stall. She did not ride the horse like the men did, but rather sideways on a saddle that had only one stirrup and a sort of leather hook where she had rested her right leg on above her left. It was an early version of a sidesaddle.

Pushing the stable doors open, she crept inside. The sleeping horses flickered their groggy eyes at the intruder. Whispering frenetically to the horses she tried to calm them down. At the very end of the aisle was a single horse that had not made a noise when she first entered. Merely hanging his regal head over the stall door, he blinked his long white lashes at her. Several stalls separated the horse from the others. Pulling a sidesaddle from off the wall, Kera neared the horse to see that he was really a she. The mare was the only female horse in the entire barn.

Slipping into the stall, Kera placed the sidesaddle onto the mare's back and fastened the girth snugly. Though the saddle itself was very different than the one men rode on, it was nonetheless beautiful. With detailed stitching in the side, the saddle was black with gold threading. Made of sturdy leather, it had been polished to a gleam. Placing a simple bridle over the mare's head, Kera tightened the throatlatch.

Leading the horse from her stall, Kera stepped up onto a railing which bordered the room and, with much difficulty, swung into the saddle. Resting her injured leg on the hook, she placed her left foot into the stirrup and sat back for a moment. A small brass nameplate had been nailed into the wooden post next to the horse's stall. On it carved in neat handwriting was the word i Nonpareil /i . Patting the mare's neck, Kera said to no one in particular, "Odd name."

Pressing her heel into the red horse's side, Kera held on tightly to the reins as Nonpareil lifted onto her hind legs for a split second. Then falling back to the ground, she sprung forward into an immediate gallop. Racing along the edge of Hadrian's Wall for about a mile, she encountered an area where the wall had crumbled and had been forgotten. Leaning forward, the two of them cleared the pile of rubble and charged off into the darkness and rain.

Even within the safety, if it could be called that, of the trees, the rain still managed to find its way through the canopy and drench the knights and their horses thoroughly. An eerie silence suspended through the trees and even the men were concerned but remained quiet to their fears. Bors looked up, squinting his eyes as water sprinkled over his face. The rain did not seem like it would stop anytime soon.

"If they are out there, why don't they attack?" Galahad asked, aware he was speaking in a whisper.

Gawain put a finger to his lips. "Ssshh…" he said as he turned his head from left to right, trying to distinguish the murky shapes in the forest.

Arthur rode at the head of the group, steering his horse around protruding rocks in the ground. His unshaven chin was scattered with drops of rain. For now, Tristran's scouting skills were not required and he dropped to the back of the group. Coming to a clearing, Arthur halted his men with the raise of his hand. His eyes skirted the trees with mistrust. There was something unnatural about the way they seemed to sway in unison as if dancing to the nonexistent breeze.

Tristran rode forward and said to Arthur in a low voice, "Woads."

Tristran was correct, for unseen by the knights, the trees were swarming with the blue creatures. They stood perched on the high branches, out of view and completely camouflaged with their surroundings. As the knights moved forward, so did the Woads, always parallel to them to stay hidden. Arthur cautiously pulled out Excalibur as he sweeping his horse around.

Suddenly the trees stilled from their sway and silence rang loud. Sidestepping, Arthur's horse tossed its head several times and stumbled. Immediately the cries of the Woads filled the air. The loud cacophony screeched as Arthur righted his horse.

"This way!" he yelled, sheathing Excalibur and wheeling his horse to the right. The knights followed him, their heads ducked low as arrows whistled over them.

Cutting in and out of the trees, Arthur led his men deeper into the forest. They rode hard, using as much of their leg as they could to urge their mounts on. Tristran gripped tightly with his knees and pulled his bow off his shoulder. Turning to the sides he fired arrows into the overhanging branches. Arthur reined in his steed as a number of arrows flew in front of their faces and thudded into the ground. Connected to the end of the arrows was a chain of spiked wire. Soon, they had formed a net of wire preventing them from going any farther.

Yanking the reins to his left, Arthur veered off in a different direction but came to a scrambling halt as a wall of sharpened wooden posts sprang up from the ground.

Deeper in the forest, as the sounds of Arthur calling out commands to his knights drifted in, a ragged Woad warrior quickly ran up to the hidden area where Merlin sat. Thrusting a dagger into the ground before him, he took a step back. Merlin pulled the dagger from the ground and ran his weathered fingers over the intricate symbols carved into the blade.

"Saxon," the Woad scout panted in Gaelic.

He had found the dagger in a British village he had passed through. All the houses had been burned to the ground, everyone killed. Not even a rat lived to tell the tale.

Immediately, Merlin's advisors began whispering among themselves worriedly, aware that this information made a change in the war they thought they were engaged in. After a moment of hurried whispering, they turned towards Merlin.

"It is time," Merlin said. "I believe there might be a purpose for this Artorius and his knights."

The war council was shocked but Merlin remained calm.

"Sound a ceasefire," he commanded. "End the attack now."

Back in the clearing, the knights and Arthur killed as many Woads as they could but it was useless for they were outnumbered greatly. Then, from deep in the forest, they heard a distant horn sounding. The Woads instantly froze and retreated back into the trees where they promptly disappeared. Arthur and his men were clearly puzzled as they looked around, their swords still ready incase the Woads surprised them again.

Wordlessly, they rode on, still confused about why the Woads had stopped fighting but were grateful. The next morning, the rain was still pouring down relentlessly. When informed that they were almost at their destination, the men's' hearts lifted and everyone continued their journey with a bit less burden on them. The trees suddenly cleared and they were left with a tall hill before them. The horses struggled up the slope, their heads inches from the ground as they strained against the weight they had to bear. Their hooves dug into the soft earth as they climbed up the hill slowly but surely. Arthur reached the top first. As the others approached, he raised his hands. The drained knights gladly stopped side by side and looked down onto the lowlands beneath them. Near the bottom of the hill lay a mansion completely surrounded by a white wall. On the outskirts of the wall were small huts. Even in the rain, small figures of people could be seen plowing their oxen through the damp fields.

"Is that it?" Lancelot asked.

Arthur nodded.

"That is the estate of Marius and his family who we are sent to rescue."

Bors patted his tired horse's neck fondly and said, "I hope they appreciate it."

They all exchanged smiles as they made their way slowly down the hill towards the house.

Author's Note: Done with chapter ten. Sucky ending but my brain hurts. Now…… on to eleven.

- for all you people that don't know what nonpareil means, it is an individual of unequaled excellence or a paragon. I just thought Paragon didn't sound as cool. It's pronounced something like non-pah-rell. Kinda weird but the world will live.


	11. Notice

Notice:

I'm terribly sorry that I've been repeating all that stuff. All of you that commented on how I was repeating the book, I agree now. So terribly sorry. I just checked my reviews after updating chapter 10 and I agree. I'll take your advice and start cutting out everything that I'm restating and put a whole lot more of my stuff. I just thought that I should have added it in but I guess I'm wrong. Thanks for the review anyways.

OH and btw. It can be Tristran because in the book (novel thing) Arthur says Tristran and there's a whole many ways to spell it. I think the Welsh spell it Tristram and so on and there are others that spell it Tristran... Tristran...


	12. At the Marius's Estate

Title: Forever More

Author: QWE b R /b TYU b E /b IOK b D /b HYC b P /b LKM b O /b BVH b L /b WEC b L /b UYN b A /b PCZ b R /b GWM b D /b read every fourth letter

Author's Note: I saw King Arthur again. Hiphiphooray for Ioan! I O A N. IIIOOOAAANNN. melts into a puddle Very terribly happy. Oh but don't worry, I love Clive, Mads (hehe), and Hugh oh my fking god he's so hot Dancy as well.

Disclaimer: Almost forgot this wretched disclaimer. Yes I don't own King Arthur. Blahblahblah. I'm merely restating what happened so those who don't know will know. More blahblahblah. Oh and I own Kera so buzz off.

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Chapter 11:†At the Marius Estate†

Maybe it hadn't been such a great idea to leave the fort at night. The rain gave no sign of relenting and Kera was nearly a day behind Arthur and his knights. Though the downfall had lessened to a drizzle, it quickly changed back to heavy rain. Nonpareil didn't seem affected by the shower while Kera shivered in her damp cloak. She urged the mare into a faster gallop as they tore through the thickening trees. Thistles sprang up and thorns pressed in dangerously close to the path, snagging at her hair. The ground gradually sloped upwards. The leather saddle was quite slippery and she had to hold onto the horse's neck as they trudged up the muddy rise. For how long they rode and how long it rained, neither of them knew. By the time the forest gave way, Kera was miserable, wet, and freezing. Her lips were blue and she was drenched to the skin. Her waterproof cloak hadn't been much of a help after all.

Reaching the top of the hill after much difficulty, her trembling hands loosened on the reins. She had been riding for so many hours straight without resting. In a way, she believed that if it hadn't been for Nonpareil she wouldn't have made it so far. The wet precipitation dripped languidly from the leaves and splashed into a rocky pool beneath. She felt so tired, yet she couldn't sleep. Not here. The cold air stung her eyes and kept her wide awake, keeping her from fading off. A long, slippery drop broke off from the peak of the hill, rolling down to a small mansion at the bottom. Faltering, the mare's footing slipped as they slid down the mucky ground. Each hoof sank into the soft ground and when they past, the earth seemed to heave upwards, filling the circular hoof prints with brown water, as if getting rid of a heavy burden. Kera leaned completely forward, her stiff arms clutching onto the mare's sweating neck as they descended the hill.

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As the knights reached the estate, mercenaries rushed to close the gate with a metallic scrape. As they rode towards the gate, the villagers tentatively put down their work and crowded in around them in curiosity. A guard appeared on top of the battlements. He had on Roman garb, with a red cape clasped onto his shoulders.

"Who are you?" the mercenary called out.

Lancelot looked up and replied, "Roman knights!"

The mercenary captain whispered something to another guard before disappearing behind the wall. In a moment another man appeared at the wall. His face was somewhat pudgy with a large Roman nose. He wore a pasty, white robe and he held an air of self-importance and arrogance around him. Arthur knew immediately that he was the master of the house, Marius Honorius.

"Who are you?" Marius shouted.

Lancelot turned to Arthur with a grin, "At least they ask simple questions."

Arthur answered back, "I am Arthur Castus, commander of the Sarmatian knights, sent by Bishop Germanus of Rome. Open the gate!"

Immediately Marius's round face lit up with delight and he signaled the gate to be opened. The gates creaked open and Marius and two Roman mercenaries marched out from inside. Behind them, Galahad could see a long marble courtyard flanked by all types of colorful botany springing up. A white granite statue of a man in a robe stood majestically in the middle of the path. No doubt it was of Marius with a few minor adjustments to make him look better. Clapping his hands together eagerly like a child at Christmas time, Marius greeted the knights happily.

"It is a wonder and a miracle you have come," he said reaching up to pat Arthur's steed's nose. But the horse snorted and raised its head higher and out of reach.

Arthur said, "Our orders are to evacuate you immediately."

A grin was still plastered on Marius's face but there was no doubt he was confused.

"Impossible," he said.

Arthur turned and looked past him to see a woman draped in a deep colored robe. Her eyes looked towards the ground as she stood silently behind her husband. A tall, handsome boy stood beside her.

"Which one of you is Alecto?" Arthur asked.

The boy pushed his way to the front. His eyes were a deep brown and stood out against his olive complexion.

"I am Alecto."

Marius shoved Alecto aside. Still not understanding the whole evacuation idea he returned to that point.

"Everything we have is here," he insisted fiercely. "This land was given to us by the Pope of Rome."

Lancelot spoke up, "Well, you are about to give it to the Saxons."

"Saxons?" Alecto inquired.

"They have invaded from the north," Arthur said.

Marius's voice filled with desperation as he regained his haughty composure.

"Then Rome will send us an army!" he declared, jutting his chin outwards.

"They have already done so," Arthur said. "And we are it. Now, you should start to prepare immediately. We must leave as soon as you are packed."

"Marius shook his head.

"I refuse to leave!" he said his once strong voice descending into a nasally whine.

"Let us be clear," Arthur said gritting his teeth. "If I fail to bring you and your son back, my men and I can never leave this land. You are coming with me if I have to tie you behind my horse and drag you all the way back to Hadrian's Wall." He inclined his body forward slightly and bowed with mock respect. "My lord."

The knights grinned widely behind him.

"Lady, my knights are hungry."

The woman named Fulcinia nodded before briskly hurrying back into the house. As Arthur surveyed the village, an eager villager began following him.

"You, sir, are the knight Arthur, yes?" the boy said keenly. "I am Ganis."

Arthur ignored him and kept walking, his eyes wandering over the villagers at their backbreaking work and the poor little huts they had to live in.

"I am a good fight, and smart," Ganis said. "I would serve you proudly!"

Arthur stopped and looked at him. "You wish to serve me?" he said.

Ganis nodded fervently.

"Then gather the villagers together," Arthur said. "I must speak with them. All of them."

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Inside the lavishly decorated house, Fulcinia had set up a vast feast that she had conjured up quickly for the knights. All of them were starving but the only person who had lost his appetite was Arthur. From near the end of the table, Bors ripped off two chicken legs heartedly.

"Not to pry, Lancelot," Bors mumbled through mouthfuls of food. "But who was that girl with you? Fine lass she was. Where'd you pick her up?"

Lancelot pushed the food around on his plate.

"She's not i my /i girl. I found her coming out of the woods. The Woads had attacked her."

After a silence, he continued.

"She's not like anything I've ever seen. Her clothes were strange and she didn't look like any of the women here."

Bors shrugged and piled more food hungrily onto his plate.

After having watched his men eat for a moment, Arthur returned outside again. Tristran hadn't been at the house to eat for he was out there in the woods scouting the area. Sensing someone nearby, Arthur turned to find Alecto round the corner towards him.

"You shut these people outside the gates every night?" Arthur said, waving a hand towards the people in the huts.

Alecto said, "My father assured me it is the way of our God and our mother church."

The color rose suddenly to Arthur's face and Alecto walked away before he could tell him off. Looking around, Arthur saw that Ganis had been true to his orders. A large shivering crowd of villagers huddled together as Arthur approached them.

"A large and terrible army is coming this way," he shouted ignoring the frightened murmurs that rippled through the crowd. "They will spare no one. Those of you who are able should pack up and move south. Those of you who are unable to travel on your own shall come with us when we leave this place."

The people whispered frantically to each other but in the end they nodded cooperatively and rushed off to pack. Arthur began to walk towards the house when he spotted something that made his stomach wrench. Near a stone, windowless hut was a man. He was in his late fifties with stringy hair that clung to his gaunt face. He wore nothing but a dirty rag around his waist. His legs were bony and his thin arms were shackled to a chain which suspended from three wooden posts that had been driven into the ground to form a triangular teepee type of contraption. Thick red whip marks crisscrossed his back like a checkerboard. Coming from the look of him, he had been there for quite a while.

"Who is he?" Arthur demanded.

"Our village elder," Ganis replied.

"What is this punishment for?" Arthur said outraged.

Ganis turned and pointed a finger at the Marius's mansion.

"He defied our master, Marius," Ganis stumbled. "You are from Rome. Marius has told us that he is of the church and a spokesman for God. Is it true that it is a sin to defy him?"

To answer, Arthur unsheathed Excalibur and with a swift action, sliced the chain in half. The man slumped to the ground, his weak body unable to keep him standing.

"Marius is not of God," he said panting, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "And you—you wre free from your first breath."

Spinning around he strode back towards the mansion when Tristran appeared from nowhere and fell into step with him, his hawk perched lightly on his arm.

"The Saxons have flanked us to the east and are coming from the south, cutting off our escape," Tristran informed.

"How many?" Arthur asked before adding, "And How long until they are here?"

"An entire army," Tristran replied watching the look of horror rise to Arthur's face. "They will be here before nightfall. Perhaps even sooner. We have to leave now."

Arthur nodded solemnly and said, "We must find an alternate route."

Tristran pointed into the distance and said, "I located the start of a trail heading east. We will have to cross the path the Saxons took. It is the only way out of here."

The rain had begun to subside as Arthur nodded and turned off to oversee the packing. Suddenly, Tristran's keen ears picked up a noise beyond all the talking. Turning his shoulders, he squinted through the streaks of rain and spotted a blurred form racing down the hill. It staggered for a moment but righted itself and rushed on. Taking a step back, Tristran wiped the rain from his eyes just to see a magnificent red horse canter towards him. It whinnied loudly, its white eyes widening as its nostrils flared for breath. Something was sitting on its back.

With a dull i thump /i the person on the red horse's back slid from the saddle and hit the ground, merely missing the kicking hooves. Tristran hurried forward to see a girl with coal black hair squirming on the ground. Bending down towards her he reached out a hand. The girl moaned and tried to turn over, raising her arms to fight a hopeless fight against the rain. Her eyes were blurry as a pain throbbed in her shoulder.

"Ow…"she groaned.

Tristran lifted his arm and immediately, the gray hawk launched from its perch. Powering its wings it flew into the sky to circle the estate. Looking around, Tristran saw no one around to ask for help so with his free arms, he lifted her up in his arms and was temporarily taken back at how easy it was for him. The girl weighed nearly nothing in her state. Not caring that the girl's wet cloths soaked water into his recently dried armor, he strode quickly back into the shelter of the house.

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Lancelot looked up from his food and his eyes roamed over to the door of the great hall. Suddenly, Tristran flashed by in front of the doorway. Lancelot stood up quickly, planting his hands into the table when he saw that a girl was cradled in his arms. He knew the girl's face, whether it was covered in blood or glistening with raindrops, as it was now.

"Kera…"he whispered.

Bors looked up to see what Lancelot was gawking at and immediately smiled. Thumping his friend on the back a fit ferociously he urged him towards the door.

"And you said she wasn't your girl," he chuckled after Lancelot had nearly sprinted out in his alacrity to catch Tristran. Noticing Lancelot's plate of food, he quickly looked around before digging in.

Lancelot progressed speedily through the halls, very now and then ducking his head into a different passageway to see where Tristran could be. Hearing voices in a close by, he wheeled off into another passageway and stopped dead in his tracks as he found himself standing in front of an open door to a chamber.

The room itself wasn't very large, though it accommodated much. A warm hearth occupied the wall on the right side. The fire leaped up from the logs, throwing sparks into the air. A spacious, queen sized bed filled the middle of the room. Four, tall posts rose from the corners of the bed and a thick, red canopy hung between them. Thin curtains draped over the sides of the canopy, providing protection from flies and maintained privacy. A wide basin stood in the opposite side of the room and several feet away was a stiff chair swathed in velvet.

Tristran bent over the bed, slowly lowering Kera onto the covers. She shuddered visibly, her eyes partially closed and her hair sticking to her back. Brushing a finger against her cheek, he pushed aside the wet hair. Pulling a quilt over her, Tristran began to leave the room when he felt the soft touch of icy fingers against his wrist. Turning around, Kera had opened her eyes. The once vibrant gray had clouded over and became unfocused as they tried to fix on his face.

"Don't go…" she whispered. "Please…"

Tristran eyed her uncertainly. She was so delirious in her state she probably couldn't even make out his face, let alone know what she was saying. Her nimble fingers touched his hand once more before she dropped her arm. Tristran wordlessly sat down on the edge of the bed. Kera's teeth chattered as she moved in closer to his body. Her entire body felt numb and even her ankle didn't hurt as much now. Curling her chin to her chest, she huddled her shoulders against his chest. Tristran froze as her hands pressed against his breastplate.

Outside, the rain had stopped hammering down upon the building. Yet that lifted no one's mood.

"The rain…" she spoke in a soft voice. "It's stopped."

A surge of unexpected resentment sprang through Lancelot as he watched Tristran warily wrap his arms behind Kera's back. His hands flexed instinctively into fists. For several minutes, he stood there in the door, unnoticed as he watched Kera's body slowly stop shivering until she fell asleep. Tristran slowly slipped his hands from underneath her shoulders and gently laid her back down. Standing up, he turned around to meet cold eyes.

"How is she?" Lancelot said, his voice wavering slightly.

Tristran sensed something was wrong. Biting down onto his lip, he nodded and quickly brushed past Lancelot to get outside. Lancelot entered the room quietly, his eyes wandering over her peaceful sleeping form. A knock on the door caused him to turn around. Arthur stood by the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Tristran told me I could find you here," he said, a faint smile creeping over his lips.

Lancelot shook his head.

"It's not what you think," he explained. "I—she was attacked by Woads a couple days back. So, I took her back and Galla treated her. She had hurt her ankle but somehow, she managed to follow us here."

Arthur said, "Sounds like she has heart."

There was a silence for a moment before he continued.

"We're starting to head out. The Saxons draw nearer every minute. Bring her to the group. We have several wagons set up."

Lancelot nodded as Arthur left the room. Walking over to the bed, he watched as Kera's chest rose softly up as she breathed in. Sometimes he wished everything was that simple and undisturbed. He tried tapping her on the shoulder to wake her up. When that failed, he grasped her shoulders lightly and shook. Still nothing.

Sighing, he moved his hands underneath her shoulders and hooked his other arm underneath her knees. Lifting her up, he carried her out of the mansion to where many villagers were packing their belongings onto pack horses and wrangling their cattle and goats together. Kera stirred ever so slightly, her eyes fluttered open. Running a wet tongue over her dry lips, she looked up at Lancelot. A strange look came over her face as she realized where she was.

"Lancelot?" she said, "You were just here a minute ago…"

She smiled wearily and rested her head against his shoulder as she thought about how she would attack her uncle when she found him. Maybe a jab at the chin, or a square hit at the nose… Lancelot nearly slipped on the slick grass that when he steadied himself, he tightened his grip on Kera. She felt the hand her shoulders unexpectedly firmed. Suddenly, she felt constricted.

Lancelot looked down at her uncertainty before she planted her hands flat against his chest and yanked away. He quickly opened his arms, allowing her to wrench her body from his arms and succeed only in twisting in the air like a cat before landing on all fours. Wiping the mud from her hands against her dress, she sensed her cheeks redden before she turned away.

Lancelot sighed petulantly and rubbed his forehead. Off to his side, Tristran gave him a curious look before bringing his fingers to his lips and letting out a high whistle. Kera turned around as she saw Nonpareil gallop from behind several buildings. Her mane was still damp even though the rain had stopped. Tossing its head, it whinnied and came to a slow stop before Tristran. Kera crossed carefully to the horse and raised a hand to pat its fuzzy nose. Nonpareil nickered and pushed its muzzle into her hand.

"She's ready to go if you are," Tristran offered. "I placed a new saddle on her. She broke the other one when she fell onto her back."

Kera nodded and used the hem of her dress to wipe away the water than had collected on the seat of the saddle. It wasn't sidesaddle anymore. She would have to deal anyways. Hopping, she winced as the weight transferred unevenly on her feet. Wobbling she grabbed onto the saddle for support.

"Easy there," Tristran said.

Bending his knees slightly he cupped his hands together for Kera. Glancing quickly at his quite serious face, she grasped tightly to the reins and the pommel of the saddle before jumping up and pushing her non-injured foot against Tristran's palms. When she had her right foot resting lightly in the stirrup of the sidesaddle, she took her left foot and placed it into the opposite stirrup as well.

"Thanks," she said, smiling at him as she gathered the reins between her fingers.

Tristran bowed grandly for effect and drawing a laugh from Kera, Lancelot noticed bitterly.

"Not at all," he said, his nose nearly touching his knee.

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Author's Note: So sorry for ending it abruptly but I decided that this chapter was getting to long. Well I guess I'm done with eleven. Wow. Eleven. cheers I've decided that I'm going to head out and buy the KA Soundtrack for myself. So the next to you hear from me, I'll be listening to A Woad to Ruin. Take that!

sorry but I really needed to add this. From now on, I will use all my power to write more about Kera and stuff than repeat the book. Forgive me.


	13. Heading East

Title: Forever More

Author: Me

Author's Note: I'm beginning to write chapter 12 keeping in mind the whole not restating thing.

Disclaimer: Don't own King Arthur but I own Kera.

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Chapter 12:†Heading East†

As Arthur continued to walk around the community, an unearthly chill set in. He stopped for a moment in his tracks and the other villagers followed in his suit. Silence crept through the air for a moment. Then suddenly, the sound of drums seeped in from the mountains and wrapped everyone in its forbidding message. No one so much as blinked an eye as the steady pounding grew steadier and stronger and most likely, nearer.

"THE SAXONS ARE COMING!" one man yelled out, his eyes bulging terribly from his head as he began running around.

Chaos ensued as the man's panic was contagious. Soon, the entire population of the town was filled with scared mothers and crying children. Arthur frowned as he caught sight of a stone, windowless building that stood squashed between the Marius estate and the fields of grass beyond. Cocking his head to one side, he drew out Excalibur and made a beeline for the building. That building had been nagging at him from the very moment he neared the village and now, even when his knights began frantically lifting children into wagons or ushering people onto their horses and off down the path, he needed to find out what it was.

"Arthur, we must go!" Gawain called out.

Arthur merely responded by walking faster until he was almost at a run. Two mercenaries quickly stepped in front of the structure, blocking his way. Raising his sword evenly before him, Arthur commanded in a still voice, "Move." Eyeing each other hesitantly, the soldiers unwillingly moved aside. Something about the stonework of the building didn't seem right to him. Running his palm over the stone, Arthur noticed a line of messy caulking stretching from the ground to roughly seven feet up. Digging his nails into the caulk, it crumbled into his fingers. This was a door. Or had been a door for now stone bricks had been placed in front to seal it closed.

A trembling monk stumbled up to Arthur and placed spindly fingers upon his arm. The skin underneath his cheeks was sagging to reveal yellowed eyes. His lips were drawn tight over his teeth and his nose protruded from his face like it had been added after he was born.

"You can't go in there!" he screeched.

Arthur batted him away before demanding, "Open it."

The monk shook his head so that the greasy hairs which stuck to the sides of his head threatened to fall out.

"It's locked from inside!"

Arthur turned and motioned for Dagonet. Dagonet swung from his saddle obediently and hoisted his battle ax from its holster. Planting his feet wide apart, he took a deep breath in and swung his ax high over his head. The metal blade came crashing into the bricks. Large chunks of stone came tumbling from the opening and breaking into smaller pieces as they landed. Behind the wall of stone there was a wooden door with no obvious keyhole or handle. Taking in another breath, he ripped the ax through the wood, causing splinters to fly in every direction. The monk whimpered as a piece of wood smacked into the side of his face.

Kera watched from her perch on the saddle as Galahad handed Arthur a lit torch. She could hear shouts being exchanged as the dim light of the torch receded farther into the stone building.

"Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple!?" a shrill voice called out from the blackness of the building. "How dare you set foot in this holy place!"

She heard the sound of metal leaving its sheath right before a gurgling, suffocating noise. A body tumbled from the

mouth of the building. The monk's eyes were rolled up into his skull and a wide gaping hole now stood where his once working heart had. A small puff of white dust lifted from the crumbling stone and powdered the monk's face, his eyes clouding over. She began to dismount to help the monk and see what all the commotion was when a firm hand on her shoulder stopped her. Twisting around in her seat, she saw that Tristran riding alongside her.

"You'll hurt yourself," he said gesturing towards her ankle.

A bit startled at being addressed by a knight, she nodded. Looking at him, his hair was dark and several thin braids draped over his forehead. It was cropped at an inch or two above his shoulder. Two short black lines had been painted onto his cheek along with a crescent moon-ish shape as well. His skin was a deep tan and his near black eyes seemed to portray a sense of endless depth. Upon his left hand he wore a thick leather guard that wove around his fingers. Slung over his shoulder was an intricately decorated bow. It curved delicately to where the hand would grasp and the colors varied from an orange to black.

Blushing, Kera turned away when she realized for how long she had been 'examining' him.

"I don't believe we've met," she said sticking out a hand. "I'm Kera."

A strange look appeared on his face as he peered at her, trying to decipher if she was kidding or not. When she didn't say anything, he turned his gaze towards her hand. When she realized that here they didn't shake hands, she laughed at herself inwardly.

"Where I come from, we shake hands as a greeting," she explained, taking a hold of his hands that were surprisingly smooth and shaking them.

"Interesting," Tristran said. "I am Tristran."

Kera smiled or so Tristran thought she had. Her lips barely arched upwards but her eyes said it all. Those pale, unnaturally gray eyes.

For a change in mood, a moment later, Arthur came out of the building; in his arms he carried a young woman.

"Water!" he called out.

Someone hurriedly rushed up to him and handed him a skin of water. Tipping the opening to the woman's mouth, the water spilled forth and she greedily drank it before choking. Her eyes never left Arthur. Her frail body was covered in torn and dirty rags. Her face was pale and large black circles surrounded her gaunt eyes. Tristran spun his horse around and rode over to where they were. He gritted his teeth when he saw the same green-blue tattoos on her leg that were associated to the Woads.

"She's a Woad," he tried, but no one listened to him.

"I am a Roman Officer," Arthur said, handing the water skin back. "You are safe now."

Dagonet emerged from the musky shadows of the building carrying a young boy. The boy shivered terribly and let out a whooping cough before gagging on his throat. Wincing, he placed a sweaty palm to his neck. Dagonet's eyes softened as the boy huffed out a breath.

Marius came scrabbling over from where he had been packing, a helpless but determined look on his face. He nearly tripped over his too long robe, but righted himself.

"What are you doing!?" he yelled. "You can't do that!"

The knights all whipped out their swords and pointed them towards Marius, forming a protective circle around Arthur and Guinevere. Marius took a step back but he still would not shut his mouth.

"They are pagans!" he cried as if that would make what he did any better or acceptable.

Galahad narrowed his eyes. Taking a step forward from the ring, he angled his sword so that it barely scraped his throat. Marius swallowed.

"So are we."

Kera felt a strong wind blow against her face. The leaves that had already fallen off the now skeletal trees whipped up in a whirlwind. They danced in circles around Nonpareil for a moment, flying within inches of her face. Kera closed her eyes, enjoying the momentary bliss as the men continued to quarrel over religion a few feet away from her. The red horse lifted its head from its droopy state and tried nipping at the leaves which swished so temptingly in front of its face. Catching one golden leaf in its mouth, the horse was surprised when it dissolved into thin air. Within seconds, the multi-colored array disappeared into the air. Smacking its lips together, the mare tried to understand what had just happened.

Kera opened her eyes to find everything as it had been.

"She tempted me…" Marius was hissing to Arthur while pointing towards the frightened woman lying on the ground. "…as she will tempt you!"

The long caravan of villagers was slowly processing out of their homes and down a dirt beat path. From the corner of her eye, Kera spotted an old man near the back of the line stumble. She didn't remember ever seeing him around the village, but then again she could have been hallucinating. He didn't seem tall for he was bent over, his spine protruding from his back. In his bony arms, he tried to support two large woven baskets filled with household necessities. The weight was too much for him and he fell forward onto the ground. The people behind him made no move to help him but only looked down with pity.

Kera quickly dismounted and left Nonpareil to follow the villagers at her own will. She quickly rushed over to help the man, even the pain which shot up her leg was incredible.

"Let me help you," she offered, helping the man to his feet.

Hoisting one basket onto her hip and hooked the other with her arm. With her slight limp, she walked just about as slow as the old man did.

"Thank you young lady," the man croaked, his wide eyes grinning.

Kera adjusted the position of one basket before answering.

"Oh it's nothing," she said. "No need for thanks."

The man eyed her foot for a moment before stretching out his own thin arms.

"You're hurt," he said, "let me take the load from you."

Kera shook her head.

"It's nothing," she said. "Just a little injury. Nothing too serious."

Just then, she didn't notice the small rut that had carved itself into the ground. Stumbling, she nearly dropped the load from her hands. Feeling a powerful grip on her elbow, she turned to see the old man slowly change. She dropped the baskets and took a dithering step backwards. The man slowly fell onto his hands, his nose growing longer and his cheeks puffing out beside it. Tufts of black hair began spreading across his face and his ears began to slide along the sides of his head until they rested on the crown of his head in large triangles. His hands transformed rapidly, as his thumb moved up his arm and rested above his wrist as a dew claw. His fingers grew larger as his nails sharpened to a clawed point.

It wasn't the whole metamorphosis that surprised Kera as much as the fact that no one was noticing. Finally, when the large wolf stood before her again she couldn't help but smile.

"It's you again," she said quietly.

The wolf nodded and placed a paw against her sprained ankle. Kera stood wide-eyed, not sure whether to yank her foot away or not but chose against it. The wolf passed his paw over her ankle twice before stepping back. The fallen kitchen utensils began to disappear, their solidity slowly turning transparent until the baskets and everything that had fallen vanished, leaving not a trace of what had happened. Kera pointed her toes and circled her foot several times.

"My foot…" she whispered, marveling at how it wasn't sore or hurt anymore.

The wolf gave her a wink before spinning around and leaping off into the trees. Kera stood where she was, her eyes transfixed on the forest.

"Thank you…" she murmured.

"Wall them back up!" Arthur ordered to the dismay of several shivering and thoroughly disturbed monks.

Turning around, she saw Dagonet and the other knights shove wailing monks back into the crumbling door of the building.

"We are servants of god!" they howled as the bricks and mortar was piled back up until their cries were reduced to dull resonating inside the building.

Fulcinia quickly tended to the woman that lay on the ground. Helping her unsteadily to her feet, the two of them crawled inside the shelter of a covered wagon. Dagonet picked the boy up effortlessly and placed him inside the wagon as well. Pulling a heavy fur blanket over him, he placed a rough hand upon the boy's face before returning to his horse.

"Head out!" Arthur yelled out.

The knights mounted their horses and began riding towards the line of villagers. Tristran gave Kera a lingering smile, which she returned, before spinning his dappled horse around.

"Sir. Tristran!" she called out hastily, raising her hand.

Tristran brought his horse to a stop and twisted his upper body around in the saddle to face her.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Do you mind calling Nonpareil again?" she asked, a bit embarrassed. "I can't whistle."

Tristran laughed before bringing his fingers to his mouth. A sharp whistle emitted from his lips. Immediately, the pounding of hooves sounded from no where. Storming through the muddy grass in a billow of red, came Nonpareil. Stopping in front of Kera, she reared and snorted wildly before calming down.

"Nice show," Kera said, patting the mare's neck softly before adding to Tristran, "I really need to learn how to whistle like that."

"I'll teach you some time," he said, and reined his horse to the right and charged back towards the front of the line.

Lancelot rode up beside her.

"Your ankle seems greatly improved," he offered.

Kera's eyes turned towards the thicket of trees.

"Yeah…" she said in a soft voice.

Grabbing the reins, the sleeve of her dress fell back to her elbow to reveal her wrist. The glint of gold caught Lancelot's attention and he pointed towards the thin bracelet around her wrist.

"That's a pretty piece of work you have there," he said.

Kera lifted her arm and rotated her hand a few times, watching the way the dying sun shined perfectly off her bracelet. It was a band of pearls that had small circlets of gold in between each pearl. Her uncle Andrew had given it to her for a Christmas present. A wave of revulsion came over her and she quickly unclasped the bracelet and threw it to the ground before easily swinging herself into the saddle.

"You dropped your—," Lancelot began but Kera shook her head.

"Leave it," she said firmly.

Kneeing the chestnut mare a little behind the girth, she started off to catch up with the group. Lancelot stayed where he was for a moment, watching as her long hair flowed elegantly behind her shoulders. The way she lifted her chin to let the wind wash over her face and the way her eyes glinted with anticipation as Nonpareil carried her further up the trail made something awaken inside of him.

Shaking his head, he dismissed the notion and hurried his steed up the path as well.

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Author's Note: How was that? I tried my hardest to use as little from the book as possible.


	14. Arguement for Hunger or Life

Title: Forever More

Author: It could be me or it could be not.

Author's Note: I want to see King Arthur again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! sigh Now I'm contemplating the title of my story. I don't exactly like the name much but I saw this other fanfic somewhere and it was called Never More so I was tight on time and chose my crappy title. Arghhhh. If anyone has any suggestions, they would be welcomed dearly. And for all of you out there, I am using every ounce of will in my body to do the non restating thing. I understand that most of you probably have seen the movie so there's no need for the whole repetition thing. Sorry.

Disclaimer: hums Woad to Ruin Oh! Yea… this… damn disclaimers. No I don't own King Arthur but I do own Kera. goes back to humming Woad to Ruin

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Chapter 13:†Argument for Hunger or Life†

Even though partially surrounded by the Sarmatian knights, the most of the villagers were still anxious about whether they made the correct decision of parting from their homes. Replacing the rain that had been pouring down not an hour ago was now a light fall of snow. As carthorses strained against the weight of their load, their hooves crunched in the thin layer of snow which settled gently over the wet grass. A stray dog had followed them from the huts and now ran between the horse's legs, rounding up the lagging children and barking every so often for effect.

Inside the covered wagon, the girl laid stone cold. Her hands rested beside her face, the rest of her was covered in a heavy blanket. Marius's wife sat beside her, bandaging her purpled fingers. Wiping strands of hair from the girl's face, Fulcinia smiled miserably thinking how everything might have been different if she had never married that pig of a man in the first place. She had been flattered in the beginning when he first started courting her, but she did not return his affection, his fondness turned to anger and she had no choice in the end but to marry him.

Dagonet dismounted his black stallion and ducked into the cart. Crouching next to the young boy named Lucan, Dagonet felt a fatherly emotion filling his inside like a rapid fire spreading. Lucan stirred, his face twisting into an expression of pain and Dagonet smiled compassionately. Stroking Lucan's cheek, Dagonet vowed he would take care of the boy with everything he could.

"Brave boy," he said.

Arthur rode alongside the cart, unaware of the fact that the girl had woken from her slumber. Her eyes peered weakly through the wooden bars of the cart at the regal looking knight. When Arthur turned and caught her eyes, she slowly lowered her head back to her flour sack pillow and closed her eyes. When Dagonet left the cart and remounted his faithful steed, he was quieter than usual.

Lancelot cantered up to Arthur breathlessly.

"She is not going to make it," he informed Arthur on the girl's health. "Neither is the small boy. We are wasting our time on all these people. They are going to get us killed. You know that, don't you?"

Arthur replied sternly, "If we have to, we will put them on the backs of our horses. Whether they are with us or not, if this trail ends we will have to fight."

Lancelot shook his head at Arthur's indomitable attitude.

"Save your anger for that," he said to Lancelot.

Looking to see if Arthur was serious, Lancelot sighed when Arthur did not give in and he turned and rode away.

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Back at Marius's estate, everything was chaos. Those who had stayed behind had been burned alive in their houses. Thick columns of smoke rose from the incinerating huts as the wind whipped the black smolder around in the air. Andrew looked around him at the burning carcasses of both women and children and wrinkled his nose. Cynric slapped him on the back heartedly. This is what he lived for.

"Makes you feel strong doesn't it?" Cynric stated loudly.

Andrew nodded but a moment later when Cynric's back was turned he doubled over and vomited onto the ground. Even the rats that had scrambled madly from the smoking houses had been killed. The Saxons dared not disobey their commander's orders. 'Leave nothing alive' had not left much room for interpretation.

The stone building had its door smashed open again at Cerdic's charge and the mad monks were grasped by the elbow and towed towards Cerdic. They yelled and kicked and screamed and protested something about God's will but their inane babble was uncared for.

"Shut your mouth!" Cynric said.

One of the Saxon warriors spoke up and conveyed, "He says they walled him up in a building and took the family. Someone named Arthur…"

Geoffrey nodded and said, "The one I spoke of. Arthur Castus, commander of the Sarmatian knights."

Cynric bent down and placed a finger along a crumbling brick. Swiping his hand back up, he rubbed the still damp mortar between his fingers.

"The mortar is not even dry—they cannot have been gone long," Cynric said eagerly.

Geoffrey said to Cerdic, "They will almost certainly go south to Hadrian's Wall." He pointed to the foothills in the distance. "They should be heading in that direction, unless they have come up with an alternate plan."

"Do they know we are after them?" Cynric added as an afterthought.

"I see tracks coming from the Wall," Geoffrey said, "but none leading back. My guess is that they are being evasive."

"Then where is the family?" Cerdic asked.

"If they have not headed south in the straightest route to the Wall, they have probably gone east," Geoffrey explained.

Cerdic turned away and thought to himself for a moment.

"Since we cannot find the necklace, we must make do with Arthur. Once he is killed, we will return to our original mission. I would hate for that necklace to fall into the wrong hands," he laughed. "In the meantime, tell that sniveling Andrew to stop dirtying the ground with his vomit and keep an eye out for signs."

Cynric turned around conceitedly, about to order him around when he was met with Andrew standing there before him with a horrified look across his face. Lifting his hand, Andrew opened his fist to reveal a small circlet of pearls in his palm.

"She was here…" he whispered, the sounds barely making it past his lips.

"Who was here?!" Cerdic ordered, snatching the bracelet from Andrew's shaking hands.

"The girl," Andrew struggled, "that wretched bitch of a niece."

Cerdic said nothing for a moment. Pocketing the pearls he said to Cynric, "Take your light infantry and run them to the ground. Take Andrew with you; the girl is most definitely with Arthur."

Cynric nodded fearfully, for he dared not defy his father's orders. But on the other hand, he knew that Cerdic was enjoying how much he was struggling. With just Cynric's small soldiers, it would be a test to show whether he had the skill to win or prove that he was the weak son that he was by dying at Arthur's hand.

"And of you?" he asked Cerdic and added hastily, "father?"

Cerdic turned around and began marching off towards his own warriors.

"I will take the army south, directly to the wall," he called out over his shoulders.

Raewald crept over to Cerdic, his head hunched low to retain from looking into his face.

"What shall we do with them?" Raewald asked, motioning towards the lunatic monks.

Cerdic said nothing but turned and smiled challengingly towards Cynric. Cynric swallowed before mustering as strong a voice as he could rally.

"Put them back where you found them."

The Saxon guards immediately began dragging the howling monks towards the stone building.

"We are the servants of Goooooddddddddddd!!!!" they screamed, as if that would save them.

The bricks were piled back up against the severely splintering wood door and the mortar was smeared across them until the bricks and door blended in perfectly with the wall that surrounded them. The faint yells could still be heard, but weakly, from inside as the Saxons left the Marius estate.

"We are the servants of God!"

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The speed of the snow did not increase but the depth at their feet soon did. Near the middle of the line, a wheel from a wagon had become stuck in the snow. Gawain rode to their side and nearly collided his gray stallion with Kera's red mare as they stopped next to the wagon.

"Sorry," Kera said, pulling Nonpareil to the side.

Gawain smiled at the girl's seemly sweet nature. He hadn't had much contact with her in the beginning but everyone saw Lancelot rush from the dining room at Marius's estate for the girl.

Together they dismounted and went over to see what the problem was. The oxen that were harnessed to the cart were mooing loudly, straining against their binds. The cart wheels merely spun around in the rut in the snow, stuck fast. A goat bleated from its shelter inside the wagon. The goat was hushed as an old grandmother petted its neck patiently. She sat just underneath the blanket that hung over the wagon. A small child bent her body in towards the wagon, trying with all his little might to heave the wagon from the snow by himself. Gawain and Kera passed another hidden smile towards each other, admiring the little boy's determination. The grandmother grinned lovingly at the boy, her grandson, as he cried out and pushed against the wagon. Together, they stood on either side of the boy, bending their backs and planting their hands on the back of the wagon. Pushing with all their might, the cart moved several inches forward before collapsing into softer snow.

Arthur rode up on his pale charger. Slipping to a stop, the stallion sprayed up a wave of snow which hit Gawain at full blast. Lancelot followed.

"Leave them," he said. "We have no time. The Saxons advance."

Gawain grouchily shook the snow from his hair as Kera stepped forward and protested.

"How can we leave it? The villagers will starve without their food!" she said.

Arthur pulled his head back, not used to having his commands questioned against.

"They will live. Better an empty stomach than a death from the Saxons. We have no i time /i ," he repeated again.

The little boy that still had not given up, suddenly rammed his shoulder into the wagon's wall. Without Gawain and Kera's help, the wagon suddenly slipped off to the left, its wheels spinning on a patch of ice. The boy screamed as the cart, goat, oxen, grandmother, and food all plunged into a deep ravine off the side of the path. The bays of the oxen screamed in Arthur's ears, as he watched horrified as the cart smashed into the oxens' bodies. A weak i bahhh /i came from the goat as it slipped from the cart and fell upon a stack of rocks, snapping its neck immediately. The old woman was tossed clear of the cart and bounced across the ground, plunging deeper into the gorge before coming to an abrupt stop at the bottom where an icy river still surged. The water swirled around her gray hair before pulling her body into the flow.

Kera's head spun around as the whole thing happened to quickly. Turning around, her eyes were full of hatred and her hands clenched into her palm.

"Then I will take your advice and go on an empty stomach for obviously you don't care about there's," she hissed, waving her arm at the villagers that were solemnly trekking up the trail.

The little boy sat down in the snow, his eyes streaming with tears as he mourned for his only living relative who now was dead. He would have jumped into the ravine himself to join his grandmother if it hadn't been for Kera who scooped him up in her arms. Placing him in the saddle, she swung herself on behind him.

"It's alright," she whispered in his ear as she cantered off forward.

Arthur sat motionless in his saddle, Lancelot and Gawain beside him.

"She didn't mean it, Arthur," Lancelot tried.

Arthur shook his head and snapped back, "She meant every word. She was right, Lancelot."

Pursing his lips he turned his horse around and rode off. Lancelot looked to Gawain pitifully, his eyes asking what he should do.

"Well go on," Gawain said, waving towards Kera.

Sighing, Lancelot left Gawain's side and caught up with Kera. She refused to look at him even when he circled ahead of her and blocked her from going any farther. Even then, she just led Nonpareil around Lancelot.

"Kera," he pleaded.

She said nothing and rode on.

" b Kera /b ," he said a bit louder.

She whipped her head around, her eyes fierce.

"What do you want Lancelot? How can you obey that man even though he refuses to help them? They will die now for their food is gone. The only thing that keeps them going is him! And now he turns his back to them!"

"Arthur meant well. He would not let them die if it would cost him his life. He is weary, Kera."

Kera turned her cheek towards him. Wrapping one arm tighter around the shivering boy, she whispered, "Explain it to him then, Lancelot. Explain to him why his grandmother is dead."

Before Lancelot could protest, she raced off towards the front of the line. Galahad came up next to him, his horse swinging his head from side to side.

"She is as different as you say she is," he mused.

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Author's Note: Je suis finis. On to chapter 14. How old I am. Yay…. Pardon the terrible title but I couldn't think what was the real base of this chapter and I thought that the argument about the wagon and food and goats and stuff was the main thing so I decided to base the title after it. So sorry again.


	15. Resting for the Night

Title: Forever More

Author: There once was a scrawny little Thoroughbred named Seabiscuit. He was understated in every possible way. But one day a jockey that understood the cruelties of their life brought him to victory. That jockey was Red Pollard. Their determination and courage inspired a young girl, whose other name is now in memory of them. Hehe. Not really just felt like saying that.

Author's Note: Hello everybody. How do you like it so far? I'm kinda pulling at straws when naming the chapters so please forgive me if they are bad or….in other words suck. I can't believe I'm on Chapter 14. I guess strange compellations and obsessions drive you to this extent. Oh and guess what. This is really random but today I went volunteering and a poked a screwdriver in my eye. Don't ask how, but rather why? Hm… indeed. Why did I poke a screwdriver in my eye? I swear to god I did though. Oh and I decided that I would add a sort of Tristran/Kera and Kera/Lancelot thing. Makes things much more interesting.

Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur. King Arthur do I not own. King Arthur I have not and King Arthur that shall never be mine. (Kera tis mine)

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Chapter 14:†Resting for the Night†

Lancelot urged his dark bay into a gallop down the trail. Maneuvering precisely through the procession of villagers, he finally found himself riding next to Kera and the now sleeping boy.

"Kera," he said. "Arthur is not a bad man. He treasures each one of their lives as if it were his own. He only wishes to travel faster so that the Saxons will not catch us from behind. They draw nearer every second we speak."

When he got no answer he leaned over and placed a hand on her shoulder to turn her around.

"He is tired."

Kera spun her head towards him, her pale eyes staring daggers into his face. He was shocked to see the large purple circles around her eyes, her face looking gaunt and old.

"So am I Lancelot!" she cried, drawing the attention of Dagonet who sat just inside the covered wagon which held the sick or too weak to walk on their own. "And so are they!"

Arthur had pulled up his hood around his head so that Kera would not recognize him. Yet even though he rode only several feet ahead of her, he heard everything she said. Hanging his head, the words that lashed from her mouth stung as they rained down onto his back. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gritted his teeth and held back from the tears which he refused to shed. Dagonet noticed him, even though his face was nearly hidden within the shadows of his hood.

"Come Arthur," he said. "Rest for a moment before you continue on."

Arthur was too tired to complain and with a feeble nod, slid into the wagon. Dagonet sat near the opening of the wagon, in his arms slept the small boy named Lucan. Dagonet pulled his cloak over the slumbering boy's body and looked up to Arthur with solemn eyes.

"How is he doing?" Arthur asked, nodding towards Lucan.

Dagonet shook his head, his eyes dark and gloomy as he stroked the hair on the boy's head fondly.

"He burns Arthur," Dagonet whispered.

Lucan gave another shuddering sigh as his whole body shook in the cold. Dagonet quickly unclasped his cape and covered the boy even more so that the only thing that could be seen from underneath the layers of blankets was his small head. Arthur sat next to Lucan for several more moments before making his way to the back of the cart. There the girl lay, covered in many blankets. Her arms rested above the sheets, and Arthur saw that her fingers had been wrapped in torn cloth. He reached out to examine her hands but she recoiled, sitting up and pushing herself into the corner. When Arthur continued and picked up her hands, she made no motion but stared all the while into his face, trusting him every step of the way.

Peeling the strips of cloth back, he saw that her fingers were purple and bent at an odd angle.

"They dislocated your fingers," he explained, taking a firmer grip on her hand. "If your fingers stay like this you will never be able to use them again. I must push them back into place."

Kera and Lancelot rode near the cart when a peal of cries emerged from underneath its cover. Lancelot peered inside to see the girl pressed up against Arthur's chest as he in turn pushed each of her limp fingers back into their sockets. The girl hissed loudly and gasped as the pain rippled up her arms. When the ordeal was over, she collapsed against him, her breath completely knocked from her chest.

The girl somehow found the strength as each of her fingers were relocated and moved her face closer to his.

"I am Guinevere…" she said, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "You are Arthur."

He nodded and swallowed. After a moment, her firm grasp on him loosened and he gently lowered her back into the blankets. Leaving the cart, he remounted his steed, averting his eyes from Lancelot, and rode on ahead.

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Upsettingly, it did not seem as if the snow would let up. No one rushed or slowed as the snow continued to flurry down. Nonpareil would occasionally toss her head and stick out her tongue, trying to catch a snowflake. Kera smiled at the horse's antics. As she rode on silently beside the wagon, she saw the young woman named Guinevere situate herself at the wagon's opening. Around her was wrapped a thick coat of furs. Kera shivered just looking at it, silently envying the girl's warmth. Guinevere was probably several years older than her yet Kera was probably taller. She had always been tall to start off with.

Fulcinia crept towards Guinevere, wary not to tread upon Lucan and handed the girl a piece of bread. Guinevere smiled her thanks and bit greedily into the bread. She spotted Kera watching and ripped off a piece of bread and offered it to her.

"No thank you," Kera declined and watched hungrily as Guinevere shrugged and popped the bread into her mouth.

After a moment of silence, Kera spoke up, her arms still cradling the young boy whose name was Thomas.

"I heard you are Guinevere," Kera began uncertainly, "the one that Marius placed in prison for refusing him."

Guinevere wrinkled her nose at the mention of her tormentor's name.

"Marius," she spat. "He was a pig-headed fool. Never could see past his own nose. Cares for no one but himself. Even his wife is behind him."

"Do you have no other family?" Kera inquired.

Guinevere chewed on another piece of bread thoughtfully before answering.

"I have no mother. Or none that I ever met. My family has broken up and I have not seen them for the longest time. In that prison, you can't tell the difference between day and night. All you have to count on is that you will die just like your cellmates around you. You have no idea what it is like to sit down there, the smell of the dead rising everyday and you know that one day, you will be contributing as well."

She stopped herself, looking a bit embarrassed yet furious at herself by being carried away. Kera pursed her lips and willed Guinevere to continue.

"I tried calling out. Maybe one of the monks would take pity on me. Maybe he would see that Marius was a fraud. But the monks were as good as dead. My only friends were the rats which scurried around my feet and bit at my fingers. Whenever there is rain, it floods terribly. The stench of decay is mingled with the water and I would some days sit ankle deep in filth. We are not given any food and after several days without sustenance, it gets to everybody. Even the strongest of men are beaten down by his cruel ways. Oh the cries…" she trailed off. "Sometimes they yell so loud that even when I press my hands to my ears, I still hear them. And even now, now, I can hear them."

"You know that boy?" she said. "Lucan they call him. He was strong. But he is only a child. He wailed for hours until his voice grew hoarse. His mother was in the same cell as him. She had died long before her boy realized it. He held her dead body and cried until he slept."

She had run out of things to say. A tear trickled from the corner of her eye and she hurriedly wiped it away.

"I am sorry. But what is your name?" Guinevere asked.

Kera let everything she heard sink in before she answered.

"Kera. My name is Kera."

And with that she kicked her horse lightly in the flanks and turned away.

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Arthur continuously found himself thinking of Guinevere. When he finally returned to the wagon, Kera had long left its side. Guinevere still sat at its open, the small morsel of food quickly disappeared from her fingers as she fed it to a goat that followed.

"How are your hands?" he asked when he had reined his horse in.

With a sly smile she said, "I will live. I promise you."

"I have heard so much of you," she continued, turning her chin up so that the snow lighted upon her freckled cheeks.

"And what did you hear?" Arthur said, a bit uninterested.

"Fairy tales," Guinevere replied. "The kind you hear about people who never exist. People so brave and selfless they cannot be real. Arthur and his knights. A leader both Briton and Roman. Yet you gave your allegiance to Rome—to those who take what does not belong to them. The same Rome that tore your men from their homeland."

Arthur whipped his head around, unprepared at her bold comments.

"Do not pretend to know anything about me or my men!" he snapped at her firmly.

"And how many Britons have you killed?" Guinevere said, unfazed.

"As many as tried to kill me," Arthur said lowly. "It is the natural state of any man, to want to live."

Guinevere smirked.

"Animals live! It is the natural state of man to live free in his own country!" she replied smugly. "I belong to this land. Where do you belong?"

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As night fell over the caravan, Arthur became uneasy for it was incredibly difficult to see where he was going. Nearby, Bors and his horse slipped ten feet down the slope as they skidded along a rectangle of ice. He quickly regained his poise but stayed where he was to make sure none of the villagers would make the same mistake.

"We will sleep here and take shelter in the trees," Arthur said. "We move out at dawn."

Some people sighed with relief after the exhausting days trek while others complained.

Lancelot protested, "We should keep moving."

"And spend tomorrow burying bodies?" said Arthur. "No, we will give them rest."

Arthur said, "Tristran, I need you to go out again."

Tristran nodded. "Gladly," he said. "Better than freezing to death in my sleep."

As Tristran turned his dapple stallion, he spotted Kera talking to an elderly woman. After several seconds of converse, Kera nodded and gently lifted the young boy, Thomas, from the saddle and handed him to the woman who tearfully brought him back to a tent that had already been set up. Kera sighed and turned her eyes towards Arthur and his men and caught Tristran's eyes. She smiled shyly before looking away and towards the mountains.

Lancelot sat nearby and saw her smile at Tristran. He instinctively flexed his hands but after taking a long breath, turned his back towards her and tried to forget everything for just a moment, willing sleep to come.

"Care to come with?" Tristran asked.

Kera looked startled for a moment but nodded and followed him at a brisk canter. She felt awkward, but at this moment, it seemed as if the only person she could connect to was him. Guinevere had her eyes set on Arthur and she could sense it. Bors and Dagonet were still a mystery to her and she hadn't really spoken much to Gawain or Galahad before. Then there was Lancelot. She chuckled to herself. She couldn't pinpoint what Lancelot was feeling. He always seemed to have some sort of shield up when around her.

After a while, Kera found herself becoming more serene, her breathing growing steady to the constant beat of Nonpareil's hoof beats. They rode noiselessly side by side until the trees cleared away and the ground ended abruptly forming a steep drop of a hundred feet. Below was a vast frozen lake. The last rays of the sun shimmered off the glassy ice. Two separate valleys grew on either side of the lake.

"We will have to cross that," Tristran mumbled.

A look of alarm filled Kera and even her mare could feel her unease. Tristran smiled comfortingly and placed a hand on Kera's cheek. Turning her face several inches to the side he whispered, "Look."

Above in the sky, a vague form of a bird circled overhead, its wings spread out to its full length. Letting out a call, it quickly folded its wings back to its side. Kera gasped as it began to plummet. At first it just fell through the air, but as it neared the lake, it began picking up speed. Like a speeding bullet, the air around the bird seemed to bend as it nose-dived towards the ground. At the very last second, when it was within inches of the ice, it spread its wings out skillfully and skimmed the ice slowly, its talons tucked safely away.

The sun began to drop away, the reds and oranges mixing in with the black, leaving one very beautiful light show as it shimmered off the ice caps of the mountain. The bird flew its way vertically up the cliff until it was hovering before Tristran and Kera. The sunlight shined a colorful outline around the bird, making its wings seem to double in size and majesty.

"It's beautiful," she whispered as the hawk obediently landed lightly on Tristran's outstretched arm.

Cooing, the hawk preened herself carefully. Tristran grinned and brought the hawk nearer to Kera. She stretched out a hand warily towards the bird.

"Go on, it's alright. She won't bite. 'Less you're a Saxon," Tristran said.

Kera's fingers brushed against the hawk's neck feathers and the hawk let out somewhat of a sigh and nuzzled her head into Kera's hand. Kera bit her lip and beamed, happy to not have been bitten. The sun finally disappeared behind the mountains, spreading darkness over the land. The two of them began to ride back to camp when Tristran stopped cold in his tracks. Kera had to yank a bit harder on the reins that she had intended to keep from crashing into him.

"What is it Tristran?" she said, aware that she was whispering.

Somewhere in the far distance, came the very faint noise of drums. Both of them knew what that meant.

Saxons.

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Back at camp, Lancelot had tried to block out the sounds as Kera and Tristran rode off to who knew where. He wasn't normally a jealous person, but ever since he saw her stumble out from the trees, bloody yet strangely beautiful, he had felt that it was his job to protect her, whether she needed it or not. Turning on his side, he pulled his cape up over his neck and tried to settle in for the night.

Hearing a rustling noise, he quickly threw back his cape and stood up, but only found that it was Galahad who had just appeared from the trees. He sat down next to Lancelot, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Who is that girl?" he asked Lancelot.

Lancelot frowned and stared at his feet for a moment. Almost everyone had approached him since they saw him rush from the banquet hall to see if she was alright. After chewing on his lower lip methodically, he explained to Galahad how he had found her and so on.

"So do you fancy her?" Galahad laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Wait, that's a rhetorical question. Lancelot, that girl is different. Not like that Guinevere or all those other Sarmatian beastly women. Hold on to her for you never know…" he paused dramatically. "Tristran is always on the prowl."

Lancelot snorted in disgust and stood up. Turning away he began to walk away from grinning Galahad when he found himself looking at the wagon. A small gust of wind blew open the canvas door which covered the opening of the wagon. Inside rested Guinevere and Fulcinia. Her head inclined towards Lancelot, Guinevere sat gloriously naked, her long hair draped over her back as Fulcinia meticulously scrubbed the grime from her skin. Lancelot swallowed and looked away but somehow found himself shamefully looking back. Guinevere saw him but did nothing as slowly, layer and layer of grunge was lifted from her.

As the flap fell back closed, Lancelot finally tore his stare away and found that his brows had broken out in a sheet of sweat. Hurriedly wiping it away and found a place to sleep. Arthur sat nearby, his back hunched up against a tree as he tried to keep himself awake. Lancelot's eyes began to grow heavy as the hours without sleep and days filled with stress began to settle in. As it neared midnight, he found himself restless. Taking his water flask he took a quick drink he saw Guinevere suddenly slip into the trees. Her eyes were focused on something that only she could see.

Not long after she vanished into the shadows of the undergrowth, Arthur stood up and followed. Lancelot spotted him retreating after Guinevere and bitterness flowed through him. He suddenly blinked back in shock. Mixed feelings were twisting all inside him and he felt as if he was betraying his original feelings. His thoughts swam back to that feeling when his horse was clawing at the loose earth of the hill as he made his way up the hill to see that presumably young girl appear from the trees, her eyes wide with fright at what she had just experienced. He himself did not hold such a great hatred for Woads as Arthur did but he could only imagine having to face them on his own.

Where was she exactly at this hour? Tristran had not returned yet. Sighing, he closed his eyes and lay down at the base of a tall oak tree. Taking a quick glimpse around the camp, he saw Dagonet resting on his side underneath the makeshift tent that was set up next to the wagon with Lucan curled in his arms. Bors was lying on his back near the fire, thunderous snores every so often winding from his mouth. Gawain was sleeping near his horse who had decided to lie down after the long days march. Galahad was sitting up against a tree, his arms still resting on his bent knees, his head bobbing as he wavered in and out of the dreamland.

Sighing, he decided that he would visit that land himself and save all worries of women and fighting to the morrow.

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Author's Note: The ending was a bit strange but I guess it was okay. Now to Chappy 15.


	16. Crossing the Ice

Title: Forever More

Author: The first color in the rainbow um… pole minus the 'e' plus another 'l' and an 'ard'. Weird. Yes I know.

Author's Note: Chapter 15. Wow. And I was impressed with having ten chapters. I'm watching the Olympics right now. Quite interesting even though I don't really like indoor volleyball. Swimming and gymnastics (men preferably hehe) appeal to me more.

Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur nor will I ever. But what I do own is my beautiful Kera.

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Chapter 15:†Crossing the Ice†

As the sun rose in the east, shining its warmth upon the cold camp, all was not as well and serene as it should have been. A load roar pretty much woke up everyone from their chilly slumber. The entire band of knights was caught off guard as a small gang of Marius's mercenaries attacked them in their sleep. Dagonet roared to life as five soldiers quickly surrounded him. Attacking them with whatever he had, he lunged to his feet and began pummeling his hands into the nearest object. His teeth were gritted in concentration as he smacked two of the mercenaries together but a haunting laugh made everyone freeze.

On the other side of the camp, Marius stood with a smug look spreading across his face. In his hand he held a dagger which was pressed up dangerously close to Lucan who was imprisoned within Marius's slimy grasp. The boy whimpered as he stretched his neck to try and avoid the knife's blade.

"Kill them!" Marius commanded, his face wrinkling up in something that was supposed to represent a look of triumph.

Suddenly, without any warning, an arrow flew through the air and slammed into Marius's chest. He opened his mouth to yell but no sound came out. His arms fell from around Lucan's neck and with a muffled choke, he fell backwards into the snow. Blood coughed up from his mouth and he fell still. Alecto cried out as his father tumbled into the snow.

The second Marius released Lucan, Dagonet rushed forward and lifted the young boy away from harm's reach. Everyone looked up to see Guinevere notching another arrow to a longbow. Pulling the string back, she held the bow steadily in front of her, pointed at a small cluster of mercenaries.

The rebel soldiers did not seem all that frightened by the girl's skill with the bow but the moment Arthur stepped up behind her, they froze. Arthur had drawn Excalibur and held it loosely by his side, but no one doubted that he could raise it just as fast and attack. Lancelot flanked Guinevere's right side, his twin swords crossed over his shoulders. Smiling encouragingly at the girl, he pulled them over his shoulder and reveled in the sound they made as metal sliced across metal.

The mercenaries immediately dropped their swords and lifted their hands above their heads in submission. Guinevere let loose her arrow, yet this time if thudded into the snow several inches in front of one of the mercenary's feet. He backed up and signaled for the others to follow suit. With that, Guinevere lowered her bow casually to her side.

"Did Marius offer you gold to overpower us?" Arthur said.

The obvious leader of the mercenaries nodded reluctantly.

"Yes. After all," he said, trembling at Arthur's power, "we are mercenaries. He was the one who hired us and he was the one who gave us orders."

Arthur looked distastefully at Marius's corpse before returning a cold glare towards the soldier.

"From now on, you will travel under my command," Arthur said and paused to add, "But if you choose to leave, my knights and I—and Lady Guinevere—will kill you."

The mercenaries nodded and quickly rushed away to their horses. Suddenly, a rustle of the brush brought Arthur out of his fury and back alert. Raising his Excalibur, he pointed it directly at where the noise had come from. Lancelot held his swords in front of him in a defense stance as the other knights drew out their weapons.

Tristran burst from the woods. He was breathless and tied to the back of his horse were two Saxon shields. Arthur lowered his sword to his side and stepped up towards Tristran's dappled stallion.

"They've taken Kera."

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The caravan was once again marching down a slope, going as fast as they could without leaving anyone behind. The Saxons were closing in the distance between them, and Arthur wanted nothing more than just to return back to Hadrian's Wall unharmed and unscathed. The nearly foot deep snow proved difficulty for travel. The youngest of the travelers were made to sit in the carts as their legs would sink all the way in. Even the horses were finicky for they had to pick their feet straight up from the hole their hooves had made before processing forward.

Lancelot was near a state of madness as he kept riding up and down the line of villagers. Finally Tristran stopped him when Lancelot came galloping by. Lancelot swatted Tristran's hand away angrily.

"How did they take her!" he nearly cried out.

Tristran lowered his head. He was every ounce as upset as Lancelot was for it had been his fault she had fallen into the wrong hands.

"They came out of no where, Lancelot. You must understand!" Tristran pleaded. "Seven Saxons, SEVEN, came running from nowhere and began attacking us. I killed off three of them but they took her and Nonpareil while my back was turned. Why they wanted her I do not know. She put up a good fight, Lancelot. She yelled and kicked as hard as she could but she was still weak."

"Is she still alive?" Lancelot asked.

"I don't know," Tristran whispered. "Knowing the Saxon's, most likely not."

Lancelot tried to mask the abhorrence he was feeling but he couldn't. Tristran turned away in humility and dejection when he saw his friend's reaction.

Arthur had been riding alongside a coach, which held Alecto and Fulcinia. After several minutes of hushed talk, Arthur wheeled his horse away. His face held an expression of horror.

"They killed Pelagius…" he kept whispering to himself.

Tristran rode up to Arthur to talk about there whereabouts and what they would do next.

"Once we have crossed this last section of the Mountains of Mourne, we will encounter a vast lake."

Before Arthur or anyone else could interrupt he continued.

"By the looks of it, it was frozen solid and should prove no difficulty to cross."

Arthur nodded, if not a bit uncertainly. Turning around, he faced Galahad.

"Tell the villagers that we must cross this lake as soon as possible. Double the pace. Now."

Galahad nodded his approval and rode off to inform the villagers.

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After hearing the news, the villagers began walking a bit faster. Across the lake was an array of smaller trails that lead out past the valley and finally to Hadrian's Wall. If home was this close, then working a bit harder would pay off in the long run. Once the long descent leveled off, they were faced with a long spread of frozen ground. Arthur and his knights dismounted and lead their horses onto the ice, each of their steps carefully estimated. The coating of snow on the lake was much thinner and when Arthur scraped it aside with his boot he could see the thin hairline cracks that skirted the entire breadth of the ice. Taking another step, the ice beneath his feet groaned and he froze in his place.

When nothing happened, he motioned for the rest of the villagers and caravan to follow. When the entire lot of people reached the middle of the lake, Arthur signaled them to stop.

"Ganis!" Arthur called out.

The boy scrambled madly from where he had been waiting, slipping along the ice before stopping eagerly behind Arthur.

"You will lead the caravan south, " Arthur said to Ganis's quiet dismay. "The main Saxon army is inland. If you track the coastline until you are well south of the wall, you will be safe."

Ganis opened his mouth to protest but closed it on second thought. Disappointed slightly, Ganis nodded and began to herd the crowd of people towards the land on the other side of the lake.

As the coach slowly began to wobble its way across the lake, Alecto hopped out. Fulcinia reached out a hand to stop him but he was too quick.

"I am able," Alecto said sternly. "I can fight."

Arthur smiled at the young man's enthusiasm but shook his head.

"You are a brave man," he said. "But you have a more important duty. The most important thing. You must get back to Rome."

Alecto looked up to see if Arthur would change his mind, but he didn't. Without sighing or complaining, he turned away and stepped back into the carriage to join his mother.

"But you are just seven against an entire army!" Jols spoke up suddenly.

"Eight," Guinevere added, climbing down from the carriage.

She picked up a Sarmatian bow and tested the string. Arthur smiled at her.

As the caravan began to disappear across the ice, Lucan peaked his head out from the wagon and waved wistfully towards Dagonet. Dagonet lifted his hand in acknowledgement before suddenly busying himself with his weapons. The eight of them began to prepare for battle, getting swords and bows ready.

"I've always hated turning my back to them," Tristran said.

"Then I guess its time to turn around and fight," Gawain said.

As they formed an even line parallel to the valley they had just came from, Jols unraveled quivers of arrows and placed them down beside each person. Guinevere notched an arrow into her bow while Lancelot, off to her side, did the same thing.

Suddenly silence fell over them and the only sound that was heard was the growing sound of the Saxon drums. Marching grew louder as finally a mass of Saxons began to appear around the bend from all the way across the lake. At their head was a tall lanky young man with a shaved head and a braided blond beard. To his side was a shorter and squatter man whose eyes darted fearfully back and forth. Cynric and Andrew.

The small group of Sarmatian knights did not seem to prove to be much of a problem for Cynric's infantry for after all, they had gotten what they wanted. Drawing an emotionless look to his face, Cynric elbowed men out of his way.

"Hold until I give you the command," Arthur said.

"You look worried," Lancelot said teasingly towards Guinevere. "There is a great number of very lonely men out there."

Guinevere pursed her lips and looked forward.

"Don't worry," she said. "I won't let them rape you."

Suddenly, something caught Lancelot's eye that made him forget how Guinevere had just out-smarted him. Made him forget practically everything. From across the ice, he saw Cynric shove a small individual forward. It stumbled forward, its hands searching for something around its neck before falling down onto the ice.

It was Kera.

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Kera felt a foot plant itself in the small of her back. Gasping, she tripped forward. Her whole body felt as if it were on fire. Her vision was blurred and it became increasingly difficult to see where she was going with each step she took. They had tortured her in the short hours they kept her. She remember the previous night, she had just been riding alongside Tristran, enjoying the scenery. And then the next moment, she was screaming at the top of her lungs, trying to fight off the Saxon hands that dragged her off Nonpareil. A quick blow to her head had made her crumple into a pile.

When she had woken up, she was surrounded by vicious looking men all dressed in furs and leather. Thick reddish beads masked most of their faces. She had seen her uncle come up to her, his ugly face leering into hers. She tried to stand up, and barely managed to with her throbbing head. When she finally found her footing, all she could do at that moment was spit in his face. He had angrily wiped his eyes and brought his hand across her cheek.

Times seemed to slow as his hand rose into the air. It felt like she was in a movie as his palm finally came into impact with her cheek. Her head was whipped to the side as she then found herself sprawled out on the ground. There was a moment of silence before Andrew had fallen to his knees and was grappling at the neck of her dress.

"Get off of me!" she had yelled, scraping her fingernails against his face. "Get the HELL OFF OF ME!"

But his intention was not what she thought. His sweaty palm finally found what he was looking for and he wrenched his hand away. Triumphant he called Cynric over.

"Cynric!" Andrew yelled.

Cynric came over to see what the commotion was and when he spotted what was in Andrew had he stopped. Clutched in Andrew's hand was a small pendant of a black horse. It was rearing up on its hind legs with intricate carvings curling around on the flat back. Dangling the chain around his finger, Andrew smiled greedily.

"It's the necklace…" he said his voice in a hoarse whisper. "It's the NECKLACE!"

Cynric snatched it from Andrew's hand and pocketed it.

"My father will want it. After all, it does hold the answer to whatever he has been searching for."

Andrew laughed.

"Don't you know?" Andrew said. "Have you learned nothing?"

Cynric looked confused to Andrew's disgust.

"When listening to your father, I learned," he said, "that that necklace you hold is the very key to finding out the secret in how to bring down the Christian church!"

Cynric merely tilted his head to one side, admiring the way the sun glinted off the black onyx. Clearly he did not understand.

"Stupid!" Andrew said, his voice rising with excitement. "Whoever can figure out this secret will be capable of destroying everything Rome has ever believed in. Making the beholder the ruler of Rome!"

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Author's note: So sorry but I really needed to use this. The word slam just produces a wonderful effect for this moment. Sorry again!

This was a strange chapter. Not one of my best. I'm not even sure what the big 'secret' should be. Must thinkkkk.


	17. Saving a Life

Title: Forever More

Author: Me, Myself, and Red Pollard

Author's Note: I am so struggling now. I really cannot think of something that should be the big secret. Argh……

Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur but I do own Kera.

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Chapter 16:†Saving a Life†

A steady pound had begun to grow inside Kera's head. Pressing her hands to her temples she tried to suppress the ever growing headache. Screaming out, she stumbled from off the solid earth and onto the ice. She wanted to put as much distance as she could between her and the Saxons as possible.

Lancelot jumped up as he saw the girl cross the ice. Immediately he knew it was Kera. Dropping his bow, he began sprinting as fast as he could towards her. He didn't care what happened now, but to everyone else's surprise, the Saxon's did not fire at him.

"Take your pitiful whore!" Cynric shouted out tauntingly from his place. The Saxons behind him jeered and laughed.

Lancelot slid across the ice as he rushed towards Kera. She had collapsed near the middle of the lake, and by the time he reached her, her whole body was stiff yet shivering. Scooping her up in his arms, he nearly fell backwards for he had expected her to be heavier. Coming back to the knights, Guinevere rushed to Kera's side.

"Poison," Kera whispered, coughing up a mouthful of blood. "They gave me—" more blood, "poisin."

Jols waved Guinevere quickly back to her spot.

"You cannot loose concentration in battle. Fight. I shall take care of her."

Arthur nodded indecisively and placed a hand on Lancelot's arm to prevent him from returning to Kera's side.

"Lancelot," Arthur said as a hollow-stomach feeling of anticipation crept through him. "She will be fine."

Lancelot gave him a hard look, biting down into his lip, before picking up his bow again.

Jols pulled Kera away from the line of knights and quickly propped her up against the wheel of the supply wagon. He had heard her whisper something about poison and he went with his first instinct. Bending her over, he placed a hand lightly on her throat. Her stomach felt considerably uneasy and her throat felt tight. But when Jols made her bow her head, she began to gasp. A dry raspy noise came from her throat as she tried to get rid of what stirred erratically in her stomach. Retching, she spilled the little contents that she had onto the cold ice. She throat burned as she dry heaved then coughed until blood dripped down her chin. Yet even after that, she felt slightly better.

Jols wiped the blood away and tipped a flask of water to her lips. Though he was a squire, he still had had the time to study herbs and he learned that whatever Kera had been forced to eat, the best thing was to get it out of her system by inducing vomiting. As ghastly as it may have sounded, it did the trick. The effort of swallowing hurt, but Kera managed to down a little bit of liquid.

Cynric ordered one of his archers to fire an arrow to see how far apart the two opposing groups were. One command, a Saxon pulled back on his longbow and let the arrow fly. It soared high into the sky before coming back down onto the ice and skittered past Arthur's knights.

"I believe they are waiting for an invitation," Arthur mused.

Guinevere notched an arrow to a Sarmatian compound bow which could fire much farther distances. Pulling the bowstring to her ear, she angled it upwards and released. On the other side of the ice, a Saxon squealed as an arrow powered through his armor. Cynric cursed and ordered his men to spread out. As the Saxons first began to march out onto the lake, the ice began to moan underneath there weight.

"Aim for the wings of the ranks—make them cluster!" Arthur said.

All eight of them picked up an arrow from their piles and nocked it to their compound bows in unison. Aiming it upwards, the pulled back the bowstring and waited for Arthur's command. The Saxons marched in synchronism out onto the ice, their shields held out in front of them protectively.

Before the Saxons could reach for their own bows, Arthur called out, "Now!"

At once, they fired their arrows all at the same time. Eight identical arrows whistled through the air and each one of them thudded into their target. At each end of the Saxon line, warriors fell back with arrows in their face of chest. The ones that were not hit began to frantically try and push themselves closer to the main body, making them loose formation.

"Move move move! Keep your positions!" Cynric yelled out. "Hold your rank or I will kill you myself!"

The Saxons unwillingly fanned out once more only to receive a rapid rain of arrows. Torrent upon torrent, Cynric's hopes began to fade as his infantry was picked off one by one by a band that he should have completely outnumbered. Clutching the necklace in his hand, he began shoving Saxons back into their positions.

"Rapid fire!" Arthur roared out.

Tristran loaded two arrows to his Sarmatian bow and pulled back the stiff string. Letting go, he reloaded almost as quickly as Jols could feed the arrows to him, while on the other side, three Saxons were skewered with just one of his arrows. Even with Saxons falling at an alarming rate, Cynric was at their back, stabbing at them with his sword, making them march even faster until the distance between the Saxons and the knights was very narrow.

"Prepare for hand to hand combat!" Arthur cried out, waving Excalibur majestically over his head. "The ice is holding!"

The knights shouldered their bows as they realized that their situation was dire. They could never beat an army that large with their few number, and at the Saxon's rate, they would be reaching them very soon. Dagonet seemed to be the only one that was not frightened or unnerved. Dropping his bow to the ground, he picked up his battle club.

Kera had dragged herself so that she could watch what was happening. She watched as Saxons fell under Arthur and his knight's fire. She scrambled to one side to barely avoid being pierced with an arrow herself. The Saxons were advancing quicker now and it seemed as if all hope of winning was lost for Arthur. Suddenly, she saw an expression of understanding spread across Dagonet's face.

i _ One large and brawny knight from the smaller group strode up confidently to the boundary between them and the army. Raising his mace, he brought it down so relentlessly that the aftershock that rippled up his arm stunned him momentarily. A thin crack began to snake its way upon impact. The warriors yelled in protest and shortly, arrows were flying through the air aimed for that one knight. /i _

This scene was all too familiar—

"Shield! Get a shield!" Kera suddenly screamed.

Everyone turned towards the girl who had been forgotten for the moment. Seeing their confused faces, Kera shakily got up and grabbed Arthur's shield.

"Kera—what are you talking about—" Arthur began when the thought finally set in.

Before he could finish his sentence, Kera and Dagonet were sprinting together out across the ice. The look of amazement was quickly wiped off of Arthur's face and he finally called out, "Cover him!"

The knights and Guinevere sheathed their swords and picked up their bows. If anyone tried to hurt Dagonet, they would be dead before they could try.

Kera's long legs powered beneath her as she held the shield out in front of Dagonet. The two of them were shielded by it as they ran towards the center of the ice. Dagonet turned his head towards her, his battle club held firmly with two hands.

"How did you know?" he asked.

Kera shook her head. Dagonet was a tall man and she barely came up to his shoulder even though she herself was tall. At that moment, he didn't look so much like a vicious warrior. He looked just like a man doing his job. You wouldn't think he would put his life on the line but here he was, just smiling away, ready to do his duty.

"Not now," she said. "Get ready. I'll shield. Just hit as hard as you can Dagonet. I trust you."

Dagonet shook his head and at that instant, Kera stopped and took several steps in front of him. The Saxons were only fifty yards away and she was scared as hell but she knew what to do. Behind her Dagonet had lifted his mace high above his head. Kera turned back to the advancing warriors, her legs shaking visibly but she held the shield steadily in front of her.

"Kill him!" Cynric was yelling. "Kill that knight and that girl!"

Arrows began whizzing towards Kera and Dagonet, but she parried them off with her shield. One of them slammed through the shield and barely missed her face. Breaking it off, she threw it aside before concentrating on covering as much of Dagonet's body as she could with the shield's face.

A long deafening crash sounded as Dagonet's mace slammed into the ice. A large fat crack appeared where his mace had just been and Kera jumped back beside him so that she wasn't standing where the ice was splitting. That moment, when Dagonet was not shielded, a Saxon arrow flew unsteadily across the ice towards him. Kera saw it just in the brink of time and threw her entire weight into Dagonet's side. Together, they tumbled backwards as the arrow pierced Dagonet's foot. He winced but did not cry out.

"Lancelot!" Arthur said, putting down his bow.

Lancelot understood and quickly took Arthur's place as Arthur began running towards Dagonet and Kera. Arthur ducked low as he began jogging across the ice, dodging the arrows which flew around him and snapped upon the ice. Dagonet's final blow shattered the ice around him and it quickly spread towards the Saxons. Large sheets of ice flipped up towards the sky, as Saxons tried desperately to hang on. Slipping on their bloody hands, they would plunge underneath the surface and swiftly undergo hypothermia.

Cries filled the air as the warriors plunged into the freezing water. Some clung distraughtly at the ice's edges, but soon the large chunk of ice would flip over and send them sinking to the lake's bottom. Cynric looked down at his feet to see a face pressed up against the ice. The Saxon's eyes were enlarged by the ice's reflection and soon his bleeding face slipped away into the black waters. The water sparkled like diamonds for a moment before it was soon as black as blood on that hopeless day.

Dagonet held onto Kera as together, they slipped into the frigid lake. The first lung full of water was an icy shock. Choking Kera wrapped her arm around Dagonet's neck and tried to reach for the surface with the other. Both of them struggled to kick for air, but the cold had paralyzed them for that moment and they were helpless. Kera's arms began to become rigid and her grasp on Dagonet loosened. She did not feel cold now, a strange warmth swimming over her body as she began to sink. Her lungs felt tight against her ribs as she swallowed more water. Her head felt lightheaded and strange visions began to drift before her eyes. Dagonet still resisted hypothermia and caught her before she slipped away. His body felt light now, as if all his burdens were floating away with the water when suddenly—

An arm thrust through the hole in the ice and grabbed a hold of the back of Dagonet's armor. Hauling both him and Kera up was tremendously difficult but not impossible. The sharp blade of light coming from the sky was an intense difference to the dark waters and Dagonet groaned as white spots covered his sight. Beside him lying on the ice was Kera. She wasn't moving.

There were fewer arrows flying through the air and to Arthur and his knight's surprise, what little Saxons were left began retreating back towards shore as fast as their legs could bring them. Bors ran forward from his position at the first sign of the Saxon withdrawal and helped Arthur pull back Dagonet and Kera. A bright red line was smeared across the ice where Kera was being dragged.

"Dag!" Bors yelled hoarsely, his eyes brimming with tears. "Dagonet stay with me! You can't die on me!"

Dagonet sat up and groaned when he saw his bleeding foot.

"Bors I'm fine I'm fine," he said, hurriedly limping to his feet. "The girl."

Bors smiled a smile of relief. The knights had gathered around the small body that lay sprawled in front of them. Guinevere bent down beside Kera and tried lifted her head.

"Kera," she whispered. "Come on now. Wake up."

When she took her hand away, her palm was stained with blood. Looking at the underside of Kera's head, Guinevere saw that her black hair was beginning to mat with blood that was coursing slowly from a head wound.

When there was no reaction from the body, Arthur bent down beside her and placed his mouth to hers. Breathing in, he tried to coax life back into the motionless body.

"Kera…" Lancelot was whispering. "You can't do this. Come back… please."

After several attempts, Kera's eyes all of a sudden flew open and water coughed from her mouth. Her hand swung out as she tried to sit up and ended up slapping Arthur across the face unintentionally.

"She's alive," Arthur said, rubbing his red cheek.

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Author's Note: Done with Chapter 16. Hope you liked it. Please read and review.


	18. Back at Hadrian's Wall

Title: Forever More

Author: Red Pollard who is obviously me. Hehe. Or not.

Author's Note: Chapter 17! I'm not sure what the structure for this chapter should be like but I'll try my best to make it alright.

Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur but I do own Kera.

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Chapter 17:†Back at Hadrian's Wall†

Arthur's command was to leave the lake immediately. The Saxons would not be able to cross and all Arthur and his band had to do was follow the trail which led through the valley and back out to the countryside. Nonpareil was no where to be seen so Kera was forced to lie down in the weapon cart. Dagonet rode silently beside the cart, checking on the weakened girl from time to time. Bors rode his horse up to Dagonet and they traveled side by side for some while before he found the courage to speak up.

"You need not fawn over her like a mother goose, Dag," Bors said. "She will be fine."

Dagonet scanned his eyes sadly over Kera. When Guinevere had told Arthur about Kera's head wound, the first thing they had to do was bind it. Now a long strip of cloth was wrapped several times around her forehead. Her lips were blue but her cheeks were growing rosy. She lay huddled in the very back of the wagon, shivering and wishing that she knew where her brave red mare was.

"She saved me, Bors," Dagonet said. "How do I even repay a person for that?."

"She's just an impractical child," Bors consoled. "The world will not end when one woman dies."

Dagonet frowned.

"It does not matter, Bors. Without her, I would be at the bottom of that lake now. Along with all the other Saxons as company."

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By the time Cynric and what was left of his even smaller infantry caught up with Cerdic, Cynric was feeling mixed feelings. He had found what his father had been looking for for so long, but on the other hand, Arthur still lived. Andrew paraded next to him, his chin held high with pride at the fact that they had captured the necklace. The larger Saxon army was resting for several hours in a small clearing. In the middle, Cerdic was talking to his bodyguard with a serious expression on his face.

"Father!" Cynric called out as he rushed head first towards the leader, waving the necklace around in his hand.

Andrew followed close behind.

Cerdic lifted his head and gave his son a hard look before approaching him. When he was close enough, he grabbed the necklace from Cynric's hand and held it close to his face.

"Alas, my son does not prove as a failure," he growled.

Andrew smiled expectantly from the shadows, his hands wringing themselves. Suddenly, Cerdic clenched his thick fingers around the small horse pendant and roared.

"What is the meaning of this!" he bellowed, pointing at the small inscriptions on the pendant. "Who here can understand them?"

Andrew came forward and held his hand out tentatively. Cerdic dropped it into his outstretched palm with a snarl. Flipping the necklace over in his hand, Andrew held it up to his eyes.

"The girl was most likely given this necklace by that wench her grandmother. I was with her when she asked a friend to make it personally himself. My mother was skilled in Gaelic. I never was able to learn that ancient language."

He paused as he smoothed his chubby fingers over the pendant's grooves.

"It is said in the myth that the girl who bears or bore the necklace, can understand the cagey tongue."

"Where is the girl now?" Cerdic demanded. "I want to see her."

Cynric nearly choked on his spit when he heard his utter the dreaded words.

"I—I gave her back to them…" Cynric stuttered, his eyes bulging from his head. "We had the necklace. There was no use for her."

Cerdic brought his face close to Cynric's, his small black eyes leering dangerously close.

"You stupid imbecile. You gave her a chance to explain what you did. Now Arthur and his men will have double the reason to fight harder."

Andrew stepped quickly between the father and son, probably preventing a fight.

"She knows not of what the necklace means, my lord," Andrew said.

"How is it that she knows this Gaelic?" Cerdic asked. "She is from the stupid Woadland is she not?"

"She is Scottish no doubt, yet living in the United States," he said then quickly explained when Cerdic's face clouded with confusion at the mention of the US. "It is a country that you have not yet discovered. Not more many years. But anyways. At a young age, her grandmother taught her Gaelic for she is part Irish, from her mother's side. A land just over the sea from here."

Cerdic nodded.

"We must leave now. I want that girl. No doubt they are heading for the wall. We will be up their tails in no time."

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i She was eight years old again, hair a bright orange from an experiment gone wrong. Her eyes were bright and sparkling as she hopped up and down beside the old woman and man. Her orange pigtails bounced up and down with each hop as she clapped her hands together.

"Is it done yet? Is it done yet?" she asked.

The old woman smiled, her forehead creasing into folds of wrinkles. Patting the young girl on the cheek, she placed a firm hand on the man's shoulder and squeezed.

"All in good time, Kera. It's almost done."

The girl popped up on her toes and peered over the man's shoulders. She was short and skinny for her age. Little did she know that in the next seven years she would grow roughly a foot and a half to fill out her 5'10" frame.

"Mr. Stewart. Can I see it now?" she whispered.

The man bit down logically on his lower lip and carefully chiseled a bit more at the small onyx piece on the table before him.

"You can show her now, Henry," the grandmother said.

The man spun around on his chair and presented the small jewelry piece to Kera. She held it gently in the palm of her hand, so delicate as if she was afraid she would break it. Her mouth was open slightly as she ran her slender finger over the carvings. She whispered the Gaelic words out load to herself before the old woman's hand came and covered her mouth.

"You must never say them aloud, Kera. You must never tell anyone the meaning also," the grandmother said sternly.

Henry looked a bit confused but made no comment.

"Your grandmother has not even told me what these words mean. I just copied them. This must be one big secret your Grandmother knows," he joked, tickling Kera in the side.

The girl giggled and wriggled as she threw her arms around her grandmother's waist.

"Thank you grandma!" /i 

The voices slowly receded to a mere throb. Groaning, Kera woke with a major headache growing in the right side of her skull. A movement off to her side made her wince, as she backed herself tighter into the corner of the wagon.

"Get away…" she groaned.

The figure slowly came into focus.

"Shhshshsh, Bors. She's waking."

Kera rubbed her red eyes and realized that that figure was Dagonet.

"Dagonet," she said, smiling. "It's you!"

Dagonet laughed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. After long long hours of nothing much ice and snow to see, the frigid valley gave way to the countryside to many of the villager's relief.

"How are you feeling?" Dagonet asked.

"So so," Kera said uncomfortably. "My head's killing me."

Her neck felt suddenly bare. Pressing her fingers to her neck, she shot upwards and nearly fell backwards from the sudden rush of blood to her head.

"Where's my necklace!" she yelled. "Where is it?!"

The knights that rode around the wagon looked among themselves with a bit of confusion.

"Necklace?" Galahad said.

Kera scramble to her knees and pulled her weak body up by grabbing the top of the short cart walls.

"It was here! Around my neck!" she cried, a sudden urgency filling her voice. "I can't lose it!"

Gawain shook his head sorrowfully.

"There was no necklace when you were recovered from the Saxons."

Her eyes flashed wide as it began to dawn on her.

"They have it…" she said, and for the first time in a long time, she disobeyed her grandmother's command and explained everything, starting from the beginning.

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That night, after Arthur had turned over the still weeping Fulcinia and silent Alecto to the bishop he quickly found some time to make his way to the small cemetery at Badon Hill. Lancelot watched from a distant as he fell to his knees before a grave. It was custom that fallen warriors were buried at that hill and their swords served as gravestones. Yet this particular mound was swordless with nothing but a small fire burning to recognize the body beneath.

Lancelot sucked in a breath as he saw another person walk towards Arthur and kneel down beside him. Her gracefulness, even though concealed by a cloak, gave her identity away. It was Guinevere. Lancelot moved closer to the shadows as he watched Guinevere place a smooth hand to Arthur's cheek, comforting him. Envy spread through him like a wild fire but the resentment diminished as he spun away and entered the fort once again.

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Author's Note: Pardon the incredibly short chapter, but I felt that my next idea would fit better with a chapter on its own.


	19. Reflections on Times of Old

Title: Forever More

Author: Me

Author's Note: I think I've been watching too much Olympics. Sitting on your ass for 5 hours straight into the night can do some serious damage to you. Men's swimming is my fav. I think you'll see that I've incorporated some of my new-found obsession into this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur but I do own Kera and Andrew who I have completely forgotten to mention. OH and while I'm on that track, I also own Nonpareil and the Grandmother and Henry and um… the father and mother who don't really play a part in my story anymore. And I own that awesome BMW motorcycle in the second and third chapter and um… the necklace? Yea, that's pretty much it for the time being.

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Chapter 18:†Reflections on Times of Old†

A welcome back feast had been scheduled for that night in honor to commemorate the knights who had come home so sweaty and tired. Even though Fulcinia should have been resting, she and Guinevere hustled into the kitchen to prepare whatever their four hands together could make. The fulsome laugh of Guinevere resounded often as oil was dripped onto the floor messily while cake was made from scratch. Flour dusted stories of baking sweet smelling foods were passed around as the smell of roast lamb and spiced vegetables wafted through the open doors and spread quickly into the halls, drifting into the hungry and eager noses of the knights. The only person that wasn't hungry was the person that lay stiffly on the starchy bed.

Gawain had had to help her unsteadily to her chamber. She had tried to sleep, sweaty on top of her covers, blanketed by only the thick, moist air. Kera had quickly waved away the chambermaid who had tried to help her undress. Once the old maid had left the room, Kera had slipped from her sopping wet dress into the tub. The hot water curled around her legs and seeped into her skin appreciatively. The cold lake water drained from her body as she leaned back, resting her head on the edge of the tub. On the wall facing her, a long mirror had been nailed to the wall for vanity purposes. Loosening her long, straight black hair from its ties, she draped it over the edge of the tub and slid into the steamy water until the only thing that wasn't submerged were her eyes and nose.

Though it wasn't exactly night yet, the black ink of a dark feeling and spilled through the window sills, flooding like liquid metal. Her bloodshot eyes stared by rebelliously at the mirror. She was disgusted by the way her stomach seemed to swell outwards as if she was standing in front of a carnival mirror. Lifting her thin leg, she nearly gagged at how it seemed that her ankles were nonexistent and her pointed foot was connected right to a chubby leg rather than grow upwards in a slim line. Her gaunt cheeks looked like they bulged forward and at that moment, her mind was playing games with her. She never realized how ugly she was until here she was, faced with the awful truth. Picking up the bar of soap lying on the floor next to the tub, she chucked it at the mirror. With a crack, a long jagged split shattered down its middle.

Maybe if she had been a guy, she would have been able to see past the illusions of a corpulent self. Maybe if she had been a guy, she wouldn't have been obsessing over self image and rather in the courtyard, tossing dice with the other knights. But she wasn't a guy, and she all this hot water was really getting to her.

Her thoughts wandered back to before the time travel, back before the oncoming war. She remembered what seemed so long ago when she was speeding down the main road in Maryland on her beloved red BMW motorcycle. Her mind felt slack now. Now to think about it, she had turned sixteen that morning. If she ever got back to her time, she would be starting school in a little over a month. The Olympics would be coming up soon in Athens and as usual, she would be glued to the television. She would have driven to Greece herself to see it if she could, but there was that problem with the Atlantic Ocean to cross. But even if there was some inter-country highway, she still hadn't found the time to get her permit, let alone her license.

She had always loved swimming back home, for unlike gymnastics or other insignificant sports like diving, you weren't confined to a scale from 1 to 10. All you needed was endurance and speed. From that very first day her brother had tossed her into the deep end of the pool, she had found a feel for the water. Her childhood hero had even been that boy who wasn't so much of a boy as he was a 'guy'.

From watching the swim meets and the Olympics, she had grown to adore that Michael Phelps. She knew he lived somewhere near her and she even swore that she had seen him once at the pool practicing. Kera had grown up chasing in her dreams after the same world records which he so smoothly shattered. It was one of those dreams where he would climb out of the pool, sopping wet with naught but a Speedo and a gorgeous smile on. Just as he reached her, she would wake up in a miserable fit. It was one of those dreams that she so desperately wished had a sequel but had never managed to see it.

But now, as she sat in the large basin, the warm water which surrounded her suddenly turned icy cold. Her head slid under from where she had been resting. Bubbles gurgled to the surface as her nose immersed. Too late she realized that her breath had turned to lead. The weight grew heavy on her lungs as she tried to get this torturous gulp of air out, but she couldn't even get it in. Kera felt the water force into her mouth, clog up her throat as she thrashed and tried to fight. Grasping at her throat, she choked as her mind swirled back to the lake, falling under the water, trapped behind a pane of ice, screaming for air, but no sound came out as the light slowly faded with each passing moment. She cried out, praying for that breath that would not come. Clawing at the ice, her fingers bled red as she shrieked for the air, her face frozen in an eternal scream.

But the only excruciating noises that escaped her mouth were, "Michael! b MICHAEL /b !"

"Oh my god! Kera!" a voice broke through the terror. "Kera! No! Come back! Wake up! Somebody! Somebody please help! Anybody!!!!!!!!!"

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Guinevere's scream had brought nearly everybody running down the halls to see what all the commotion was about. Lancelot was the first at the door of the room, with Tristran, Galahad, Arthur, Dagonet, Gawain, and Bors to follow. Moments before Guinevere had come up to call Kera to dinner. When she knocked, she had gotten no answer she had peeked her head inside. Maybe Kera was asleep.

"Kera?" Guinevere called out into the still chamber.

There was a trail of clothes leading into the washroom. Not wanting to intrude, Kera closed her eyes and called out again.

"Kera? Are you alright?""

Still getting no answer, Guinevere unwillingly entered the bathroom and was confronted by a still body lying sprawled at the bottom of the bathtub.

Lancelot shouted out something as he saw Guinevere drag the limp and naked body of Kera into the bedroom chamber. A towel had been thrown hurriedly over the bottom half of Kera by Guinevere.

"Get out!" Guinevere screamed, covering Kera's exposed body protectively. "Leave! OUT!"

The knights were shoved roughly from the room by Guinevere's threatening yells. The door slammed in their faces and they were left still hungry yet concerned in the hall.

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Half an hour later, Guinevere had left Kera to rest by herself. Her dirtied and ruined red dress had been discarded. After helping Kera into a new forest green dress, they had hugged as friends before separating. Tucking her knees to her chin, Kera shivered even though it was hot outside. A knock on the door brought the frightened girl out of her trance. It was Lancelot and Arthur. Just her luck.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked, standing off to one side as Lancelot quickly hurried towards her.

She had been fussed over for so long, even in her condition, and she couldn't help but feel slightly irritated. Yet she wasn't expecting when Lancelot's arms wrapped around her in a bone-crushing bear hug.

"Oh lord," he whispered into her hair. "Don't ever do that again."

Kera sat rigid at the edge of the bed, but sure what to do. Arthur smiled at Lancelot's boyish antics.

"So now you believe in Lord," Arthur smirked.

Lancelot turned his head towards Arthur with a stern look. His manly composure came back. Standing up, he took the plate of food that Arthur was holding.

"We brought food for you," he said. "For you um—missed dinner."

Kera shook her head and brought the blankets of the bed back over her.

"Kera, you have to eat," Arthur said. "If you don't, I doubt you will have enough energy to get your necklace back. We definitely don't want Cerdic becoming the next ruler of Rome."

"I can't eat," she said, her voice diminishing into a child-like whisper. "I just need some sleep. I'll be up and ready by your side in no time."

Arthur shook his head.

"You cannot fight. We cannot risk you getting hurt… again."

"You cannot be serious, Arthur," she said. "I have every right to be in this fight as you do! My grandmother needs revenge. My uncle is with them!"

Tristran came in just then, in his hand he held a small ringlet of pearls. Kera sat up immediately to greet him, a smile breaking across her face.

"Come now, Lancelot," Arthur said in a hushed voice.

Being led from the room was probably the hardest thing Lancelot had to do. Arthur was grasping his arm almost painfully tight as he gave a final look over his shoulder just to see Tristran sit down at the edge of the bed. Kera threw herself into his arms, her cheek pressed tightly to his.

"Hey there," Tristran murmured. "S'alright now."

A feeling of hopelessness dawned on Lancelot as Arthur finally wrenched him out the doorway. Even as the door began to close, he was not ready for the wave of depression that swept over him when Kera timidly took the bracelet from Tristran's hand. The next moment, she gave a little sigh and pressed her lips to his, her eyes closing in exhilaration.

Several minutes later Tristran exited the room with a grim look on his face, contrasting to his happiness that he felt when he was around Kera.

"I went out to scout the area and found the Saxons not far from here," he said. "There is an army well into the thousands, Arthur. We must get ready."

They were quite for a second.

"I managed to coz her into eating something," Tristran said quietly. "She told me she wasn't hungry but she ate a piece of bread."

They were silent for another second before a noise came from inside Kera's bedroom. There was the sound of feet pattering across the floor. The three knight's faces grew bleak as the sound of retching and coughs leaked through the walls.

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Author's Note: I kinda liked that chapter, how bought you? Kind of a change in writing technique or something.

- All hail the great Michael Phelps.


	20. Preparations for Battle

Title: Forever More

Author: Red Pollard

Author's Note: Wow. Chapter 19. I've been trying to use my dictionary more, but I really haven't felt like using the words in the story. I'll try harder.

Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur but I do own all those people that aren't from King Arthur save for Michael Phelps. He's just a treat. J

Chapter 19:†Preparations for Battle†

Andrew paced around the camp, his fractious temper getting harder to control. He had sent out a scout to see how Hadrian's Wall was faring hours ago. Grumbling, he kicked his foot in the dirt and watched longingly as Cynric ripped into a steak nearby.

"Andrew!" Cerdic roared out from his warm spot near the bonfire.

Andrew whirled out from his daydream and crossed over to the large Saxon. Cerdic stood near the fire, his arms crossed with his dirty yellow beard cascading over his chest. His eyes were mere black marbles and reflected in their depths was cruelty.

"Yes?"

"Where is that stupid messenger of yours? Wilhelm has been gone for hours. Does it take forever to walk a mile?"

Andrew nodded furiously then began shaking hi head. He always lost his cool whenever he was around Cerdic. With Cynric it could matter less.

"Milord—I don't know. Maybe something has delayed him…"

Suddenly, a man burst from the trees, his eyes wide with fright as he tried to run towards them while dressed in complete Saxon armor.

"Cerdic!" he called out. "Wilhelm has been found!"

Andrew and Cerdic followed the Saxon, pushing past the bountiful shrubbery which blocked their path. Roughly thirty feet away from where their camp had been was a small patch of densely packed trees. The largest one of the trees grew from the center of the space, its thick roots bulging upwards from the ground. On the tree's trunk, was a man. Several arrows had skewered right through him at his chest, nailing him to the dark bark. A small slip of paper had been shoved into the man's mouth. Andrew timidly stepped forward and pulled the parchment from the dead body's mouth. Written in Wilhelm's own blood read 'We are ready.'

That night, Guinevere had slipped into Arthur's bedchamber, unseen to all except the shadows which guarded the halls. The silence which crept in and out of the fort blanketed the two of them with its heavy ominous threat. An hour later, Guinevere left the room, her hair tousled and the sleeve of her dress slipped entirely from her shoulder to reveal milky white skin. She was quieter now, her lips red from kisses.

Arthur sat along in his room once more, sweat perspiring down his forehead in a river. He remembered that night when he had followed Guinevere out into the forest, where he saw Merlin. His first reaction was to draw Excalibur. She had betrayed him. He had been set up the entire time, from the moment he carried her out from the building up until now. But that was never really the plan. Merlin was her father and she was very much a Woad. The great chief already knew everything, and all he wanted was for peace to come between the longtime enemies. In return, the Picts would stand side by side with his knights and protect the land as fiercely as if it were theirs from the Saxons.

Uneasiness cart wheeled around in his stomach as he stared out his window. Over Hadrian's wall and past the cemetery and the hills, she spotted the small flickers of camp fires of where the Saxon's were staying. They were close and battle was inevitable.

The night past quickly for everybody, and in the morning, nobody wanted to wake up. No one wanted to fight anymore. All they wanted was to return home and spend time with their families. But after fifteen long hard years, it was uncertain whether their families would still be there to spend time with even if they did make it through the war. Arthur had been the first up and ready. Sleep had not come easy for him, and he entered the armory/stable long before the sun had risen. He had demanded that this battle was for him alone. Refusing to let his men help, he saddled up his gray steed and rode out to the top of the hill, his dragon banner snapping in the wind. Dagonet's close encounter with death had been a lucky one. But Kera was not here to predict anything else, and he had denied her wish of fighting.

His battle gear was much heavier now. His helmet was thicker and so was his breastplate. Gold adornment had been painted and stitched into the thick leather. Arthur's face was vacant of any emotion as he spun his horse around in its spot, his eyes searching the horizon for some sign of life. The fort at Badon Hill had been commanded to be evacuated immediately. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the long procession line of the fort occupants, making their way away from their home. Six horsemen were riding alongside the people, their heads down as he tried to understand why they were leaving.

Bors wheeled away from the line and pumped his fist into the air towards Arthur. Then slapping it back across his chest he released a long roar, his deep voice resounding across the quiet countryside. A few moments later, tears sprung to Arthur's eyes as he raised his fist in salute and cried out that battle roar back. Lancelot gritted his teeth as he willed himself not to ride off and join Arthur. For the first time in a long time, he was not fighting beside his friend.

As the wagon which held the sick clattered by, Lancelot peered inside to see if he could catch a glimpse of Kera. That morning, he had carried her sleeping form to the wagon itself, careful not to wake her. The wagon was empty. Panic began to take over as he veered his stallion around. Cantering up and down the line, he kept a sharp eye out for her but after several desperate minutes, he came up empty handed.

"Tristran!" he said to Tristran. "Kera's gone!"

Her father whom she so hard tried to impress told her when Kera was little that she had pretty hair. Those words filled her chest even at that age and ever since then, she had refused to let anyone touch her hair. Not even her mother who insisted on meticulously unraveling the knots with a brush. For years, her long black tresses had grown out until finally, they reached her waist in a smooth straight line.

And here she stood, before the mirror. She faintly remembered seeing this scene in the Disney movie Mulan, and she smiled at the thought. She had never held a dagger before, and grasping the bone handle tighter, she realized that it wasn't much different that holding a kitchen knife. Closing her eyes, she bit on her lip as she ripped the sharp blade through her hair.

Her right hand dropped the dagger as she stared sadly at the long locks of hair hanging limply in her left hand. Shaking her head, she wrapped them up in a thin piece of clothe and reminded herself to throw it away later. She looked very much like a boy now. Running a hand through her short messy hair, she found that even the closest of observers would be fooled. The only thing that gave her away was her trademark pale eyes and her long lashes. Though she was willing to do many things for the country she now loved, she wasn't crazy.

Nodding, she picked up the sword which Guinevere had stolen from the armory for her. Kera wasn't quite sure whose sword it was exactly, but at this point and moment, she really didn't give a damn. Tossing the sword skillfully from hand to hand, she was astonished at the way the dying candlelight reflected off the clean metal blade. Her hands knew exactly where to grasp the hilt as she swung the long sword in and arch over her wrist. Her father had been one that had been obsessed with medieval sword fighting so in his spare time he sparred with his few friends who had the same obsession. She had gone and sat in on each lesson that eventually, her father agreed in teaching her some things. Though medieval sword fighting tactics were different from the Dark Ages, it wouldn't be that crucial.

Flipping the sword into the air, she caught it expertly by its leather base and slid it into its sheath at her waist. Armor had been a bit more difficult to find seeing as the Woad's battle armor was little more than a loincloth while full Sarmatian regalia would have pulled her to the ground. Guinevere had finally and secretly helped her out. Slipping into rough leather trousers, Kera then slid into a smooth, sleeveless tunic which reached mid-thigh. Metal arm guards were a necessity yet a breastplate wouldn't fit. Around her waist was a thick belt. If she was to move around quickly and fight fast, she couldn't take a chance with heavy armor such as an over sized helmet and so on. Pulling on her boots, she nodded to herself in the mirror before rushing out to the forest.

From the fort, it was a bit of a distance to the forest, but Kera made it just in time. She had never stopped wondering where Nonpareil had gone and she missed that gallant red mare every second. Several Woad guards rushed towards her menacingly with their garrotes and daggers out but Guinevere had stopped them. Taking a breath, she took her spot at the edge of the woods. It was an incredible feeling for she could sense the entire Woad army behind her, even though they could not be seen. The sun was rising higher and higher but the minute, the sun rays growing shorter and hotter.

Merlin made his way around his Woad warriors and made his way to Guinevere and Kera's side. The air was unusually quiet, as they looked out at the vast plain. At the top was a small shadow of a person, sitting tall and confident on top of a fully armored horse.

Guinevere was probably several years older than Kera, maybe in her early twenties, even though Kera was taller than her. At this moment, Kera couldn't have thanked her enough. She had helped her and practically taken her under her wing. Guinevere smiled and ruffled Kera's short and choppy hair.

"Arthur and his knights will never recognize you," Guinevere said fondly. "Not even that Tristran."

She elbowed Kera jokingly. Kera bit her lip and smiled.

"Who is Michael?" Guinevere asked suddenly, in a very quiet voice.

Kera leaned back a bit, not prepared for the question. She didn't answer for a moment, drawing her sword from her belt and sliding her finger along the blade. When the metal cut her skin, red welled up in the opening, but she didn't say anything.

"Why do you ask?"

Guinevere settled back on her left leg, over her shoulder was slung a taught bow. Following Woad custom, her battle outfit was not much of any protection. Two wide bands of intricately woven leather bound down her chest and straps went over her shoulder to keep them in place. Her pants were loose and she wore boots as well. But even baring midriff, Guinevere was at ease, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword.

"You were yelling out the name when I found you yesterday," Guinevere said.

Kera smeared her bleeding finger against her pants.

"A childhood idol," she said, feeling a pang of homesickness.

They were quiet now, waiting for any sign of life as the dragon banner howled in the wind, the long red sash flowing behind it like a burning tail.

Author's Note: I don't really like this chapter. I'm getting to this critical point but I really hate describing battle scenes since I just can't find a good enough description. Oh well.


	21. NOTICE IMPORTANT READ!

NOTICE

Sorry for all those who were expecting me to write more, but now that I've started school again, I haven't found the motivation or time to actually update and write more chapters. I promise that I won't just discontinue this story but it might be a while before I start writing again. Thanks for all those who reviewed my story whether positive or not. I'll do my best to begin updating. If you need to contact me, you can email me at . Ack. Now I feel really bad. Must write… can't…….


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